


SlaveTale

by V_mum



Series: The Reader Insert Series [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Assault, Depression, F/F, F/M, Female Reader, Gen, General Human terribleness, Hate Crimes, Manipulation, Monster Slavery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader Is Not Frisk, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, SlaveTale, Slavery, Slow Burn, Suicide, Violence, Vivid Depression Devlopment, cynical reader, depressed reader, etc - Freeform, just as the story goes, reader will get more depressed just a note
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 66
Words: 99,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_mum/pseuds/V_mum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Humans were creatures of fear, submission, hate, and control.<br/>We feared the monsters. We wanted them to submit. We hated them.<br/>We took control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue Pilot: Reader on Slavery

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT CHILDREN  
> IF YOU HAVE TRIGGERS FROM NOT ON PLEASE NOTE THAT CHAPTERS WITH BIGGER TRIGGERS WILL BE LABELED RIGHT HERE IN ALL CAPS

Society is a tiered structure, and any who try to deny that fact are fools.

This is a fact that has stood the strongest, in all of living history.

This, you lamented, as you watched this scene unfold before you. Watched the screaming of two sides of an argument, two monsters clinging to one another on the side, crowd watching.

A brief glance into anything one might have learned in your average high school History class, or Government course, could tell you the simple fact that the world was ruled in systems.

From all the way back to ancient times. Man ruled over animal, animals rules over plant. Men had chiefs and village idiots, and anything in between like the priest of the farmer, all of it was ranked.

The world above ground was ruled by major powered countries, dominating lesser and third-world countries. Within countries ruled- either the wealthy or the government official, often hand in hand as both. Over which they rules the lower class, middle classes, poverty stricken, working class, all of it.

Even the family was ruled. Parents over children.

Human life was built on the basic tiers and power and who owned who and who had more authority and who cowed to it.

Then, of course, there was the run bellow the tiers. Not even a part of the classes.

Slaves.

Many civilization partook it. Racial slaves, slaves of war, debt slaves, kidnapped trafficked slaves.

The world, you reflected, watching this unfold as raised voices escalates and things look physical, ran on slave labor.

Major corporations ran on cheap labor that barely let workers survive. Some didn’t get money at all, some just merely trafficked from other countries, stolen or sold from their various tiers into the bottom rung to work be commanded.

Nations at war, historically, enslaved fallen countries and stole their wealth and resource, surviving off them and growing, like a parasite.

Even the common family has a slave. Pets. A dog you train to hunt, a cat that catches mice, a fish trapped in a bowl, a bird in a cage.

Man was no stranger to the concept of slavery. It was everyday life.

It was more so than ever, since the monsters came about. Only one look, glancing to the side of the confrontation, was needed to remind you, looking at the huddle of the two monsters.

You could remember it like yesterday, the day 3 years ago you saw your first monster on the news. King Asgore, and Lady Toriel at his side. The smallest child to ever save a race stood in between, as news crews captured them making their move into the first city that would ever see monsters in person.

Only time could have told what was in store for the monsters… but frankly, you weren’t surprised.

“Earn your place amongst us, monsters” is basically what happened.

Of course Humans, as a species, would never just merely accept a separate sentient species into their ranks as normal people.

Humans couldn’t even accept their _own_ species, not when they had a separate culture or skin or religion. Let alone a new species.

The first year… maybe it looked promising. The monster king and the former, but still powerful and influential, queen and the small proclaimed human ambassador fought for the rights of monsters. Laws were passed to ban species-ist violence. Laws mandated the beginning of monster Medical care, to research for their well being. Monster citizenship seemed in grasp…

It was an illusion.

Mankind was not welcoming. Riots and hate crimes were rampant in year two. Monsters died and dust increased. The government sided with its subjects more and more as people protested court cases and presidents were set in favor of humans over monsters. Subjugation began and monsters weren’t protected by “all men are created equal”. After all. Monsters are not mankind.

Perhaps, then, they were not equal.

The monsters cried and their leaders copped pleas. Humans did not listen.

More policies were passed, limiting the rights of monsters now, and the research into monster health providing the idea of the Human Safety Collar. There were few monsters who would hurt or kill a human, but it had not gone unheard of. And despite what humans supposedly had of “stronger souls”…

A fact remained.

A monster could take a human soul.

We, could not take there’s.

Monsters were Magic.

Monsters were more powerful.

Humans were creatures of fear, submission, hate, and control.

We feared the monsters. We wanted them to submit. We hated them.

We took control.

3 and a half years. Monsters legally suppressed into the bottom rung class. Not even kept hidden like a typical Human slave of the current era, but _openly_ controlled in public. Blinking half-magic, half-technological collars or chips or objects of various creations designed for the monster that wore them on the open streets.

Monsters working for nothing in the average business as a waiter or casher, or far away in mines. Monsters in the home, more slaves than the human pet ever were, watching children, maids. Monsters doing anything they were told.

Monsters cowering as their owners screamed.

That’s what you were looking at.

As you shook your head free of philosophical reflection, you watched.

A rich family screamed and a poor family screamed, and their respective slaves curled tight against one another in a tight hug. 3 separate casts. You couldn’t ever recall why they screamed, but you were sure it had something to do the wealthier man screaming at the younger man of the other family. If you focused, you could figure out that it was a father protesting against her daughter’s boyfriend.

How petty. Screaming on the streets like this. How humiliating for everyone. You even felt second hand embarrassment.

You look to the monsters. A pair of Vulcan. Your stomach twisted for them; they looked like they hadn’t seen each other in ages.

But as the fighting broke up, so did they, dragged along with fiery tears and looking back at one another as the split. No one was there to offer any condolences for them. There was no guarantee they would ever see one another ever again. None that the other would even survive. Maybe they would be lucky. Maybe they could one day be one of the few monsters who “earned their place as equals”, though even those monsters were not equals, either. And odds were, no, they never would. They would probably work and slave and do things against their will, thanks to those collars, for the rest of their lives.

They were ruled.

Human nature disgusted you.

You, too, were a human.

You did nothing, but wish the two the best of luck, and went back to walking to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY PARTNERS  
> so this idea really got me going let me tell you. sprung up in a conversation about how monsters could have progressed after rising from the underground, and i've not read a story like this before ((at least not one i didnt find logically ridiculous)) so i figured id take a crack at it myself.
> 
> I know ive already got my Main Series (Above World Tales) in progress, and people are still waiting on updates for Peace, but ive been having issues getting out of writers block after i lost my files... anyway, this idea really got me back into writing so ive been writing it for a while to get back in the game.  
> i have a few chapters but if this doesnt get any interest im not putting it above my other works, and ill just get to it later.
> 
> EDIT:  
> I JUST READ "Hell is a Place on the Surface" AND FUCK MAN THATS REALLY GOOD. ehem. anyway. it appears someone HAS written the idea before. and done it GOOD. highly recommend. still wanna write my take, though.


	2. The Bartender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solars' still isnt as great as Grillbys'.

Nowadays, every restaurant out there had a monster slave.

It was sort of like a key milestone to any restaurant. 4 years after the influx of monsters “into society”, the slaves were already integral.

Nowadays, having a monster slave was like… making your first dollar, or your first food critic. Its didn’t always matter if the monster was even helpful, you saw one at any successful store that wasn’t going out of business.

Solar’s Burgers was one such restaurant. It was more fast food, actually. The restaurant scene wasn’t really yours thing. Too expensive. And the good places were really cruel to their monsters.

You hated that, honestly.

Solars, though. It’s where the kind of people who don’t support the monster slavery (however few), or just uncomfortable with seeing it, come to eat.

Yes, it still had a monster slave. But he was generally pretty lucky in where he landed. Apollo, the man who ran the place, was a pretty kind man. Ever since seeing souls were a thing, many people went to find out about theirs and liked to talk about it. You knew Apollo was Green. Kindness.

You kind of wondered what color your soul was, but had never gone to try and ask any monsters to tell you. You kind of wanted it that way, not knowing.

Anyway, you liked eating at Solars. You were a frequent regular, lunch every day.

And while most people with monster staff give them the grime jobs or get ‘impressive’ monsters just so they can be on display, the monster here was the cook, and man, was he good.

“Grillby, pal.” You greet him casually as you sit at the seat at the counter. Grillby likes to dress sharp, best he can. Apollo did, too, so he was quite glad to dress him with snazzy and neat cloths in the closet. You had to admit, the walking fireman did suits a lot of good. Apollo, not so much. He tried, but that man ruined his suits all the time, far too clumsy.

The fire elemental, glowing with his warm orange and yellow tones as usual, nodded a greeting. He always crackled softly, almost always. And he gave the counter area a nice warmth, cozy. He was over all pretty comfortable be around, even in total silence as he didn’t like to talk much.

Unfortunately, that was one of the flaws with this place. Even this restaurant wasn’t perfect, and even Apollo had put the commands to use on Grillby. He was a business man, so he had once excused himself. He needed his front and main employee to be social.

After Grillby nodded to you, he moved down the counter with another order, and the soft flickering light on his collar that was almost not noticeable made it of note that the command was in effect as the fire monster spoke loud and clearly, “your order, sir. Please enjoy.” As he had been told to.

He had to talk to any customer, including preset orders on things to say like when taking an order or when giving someone their food.

No, it wasn’t the absolute worst thing a monster had been forced to do, but if you payed him any attention, it was just as clear how uncomfortable Grillby was with talking, and so loudly.

You’d long accepted that his orders couldn’t be over ridden by you- although any human can give any monster command, an owners command were always top priority- so you had to accept it just as he had, that as he made his way back over, he asked just as clearly, “welcome to Solars, what would you like to order today?”

Especially since Grillby already knew and didn’t even wait to take the order, just started making it in front of you. like every day come lunch time, A burger and a small fries, and the hardest alcohol he had nearby on hand in ice.

He had been slightly amused how you had worded that the first time you’d made to order.

Either way, it was an unnecessary discomfort he had to run through the drill with you, but, there could be worse? Outside the unnecessary commanded orders, your having told Grillby that he honestly didn’t need to be vocal helps. You could talk to the guy and he didn’t have to talk back, so the two of you had gotten along.

You wondered if you could consider the bartending fry cook a friend.

You would hope so, but, Grillby was also the kind of strong type of monster that wasn’t _all_ kindness like some monsters. He was definitely full of love and kindness and mercy, but, you’d seen him give his version of ‘bitter’ reactions. You know he didn’t like humans.

At least, most humans. He didn’t seem to have issues with you, and other less-than supportive people toward the slavery idea. And he was very good with the human kids, too. The ones that weren’t horrible mini humans he was very kind to.

Grillby was bitter but he was still full of kindness. You were happy he had safe living, cooking- he seemed to enjoy it, or so you thought- and living in the small apartment upstairs. It was nice, clean, and safe. If it rained he didn’t even have to go outside to get home.

You didn’t really know if the rain could hurt him, or kill him, or anything, but, you worried for the guy. He didn’t seem to like water, and another of Apollo’s commands was that Grillby did have to handle the stuff. Otherwise you figure he wouldn’t touch the stuff.

Badum tss.

Eheheh. Alright, that was kinda dumb.

Grillby slid you your drink and your already-prepared burger and fries- he had gotten used to you coming in at the same time every day just like his other few regulars.  You waited for him to finish his normal line, “your order, ma’am. Please enjoy.”

You smiled and passed him the usual payment- the cost of the food plus a strong tip. Grillby didn’t get paid for working here. He always looked very grateful for the money and slipped it into his pocket with a glance around- Apollo, again, was a business man and tended to confiscate tips if the restaurant money was tight. He always looked so grateful for the big tips, though. You wondered just what he did with that money.

You remember Grillby had broken glasses for a long time, but a while after you started coming and had encouraged a few other human friends to come here (and prod at them to tip the good fire man pointedly) he had been able to afford replacements.

You’d complimented them the first time you saw him with the new glasses and he’d muttered to you a very quiet “…thank you…”, without the collar light flickering on. You’d felt a little proud he’d actually wanted to say anything to you back then, and you had a sneaking suspicion he was also thanking you for helping be able to afford them.

Yeah, you thought mentally as you bit into your burger, you hoped you could consider Grillby a friend, if he had any human friends.

He made his way off to do whatever a Grillby does at work, with a parting goodbye nod, and you return that with a smile. The kind specially reserved for ‘friends’ and ‘I hope we’re friends’ types.

You eat, throw out the little cardboard food holders in the recycle bin, and leave the cup on the counter, and with that take your leave, pulling your coat tight and close. It’s not very cold, since it’s still mid autumn, but you did like this coat so wearing it early was just fine.

You walk the streets, all around you watching humans going about their lives like droning ants, some with monsters in blinking collars on their heel and at their beckon.

Your heart plummets because, you realize, that this is normal to you after over a year of it. if you thought about it, it disgusted you, but. Well. It felt like the usual. You hated that.


	3. Reader has bad fucking day.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but the real question:  
> when will reader learn bonedude's name?

Unfortunately for you, when you had the pleasantry of visiting your mother as you’d planned about a week ago, you are met with a disturbing surprise.

You typically visited her every month to give her a little company. You hated her, honestly, you always left in  a rage with a rant to give for hours, but you were the only kid left that would talk to her.

She’s run off your oldest brother for being gay, shed run off your oldest sister for marrying a different race, and she’d almost sent you packing, too, out of inability to deal with her for not “settling down” and “having kids” and “being a proper house wife” cause you “weren’t getting any younger.”

Frankly, your mother was a terrible person, but, she was your mother and no one else was going to take care of the old witch, they were all long gone.

Until, at least, the woman pulled the last damn straw on you, too.

You’d just rung the doorbell to their little house in the suburbs, and when the door opened- you saw not your mother. You saw a tired looking monster woman. An exhausted bunny woman.

You and her stared at one another for a moment- she’d opened the door to let you in, but you could only stare.

“You work here?” you asked promptly.

You received a nod, silent. Her collar flickered when she opened her mouth, and it closed again without a word. You twitched, understanding. You mother liked her quiet. You can imagine the old woman telling this monster to stay silent indefinitely.

You twitched and finally entered. She closed the door behind her, and followed behind you as you walked the house swiftly, her ears down like a sad droopy rabbit.

You found your mother in the living room like you expected.

You slammed a random door to get her attention, making both women jump- which you regretted for the young bunny lady.

Your mother stood, placing a hand to her chest and scowling. “You almost gave me a hear-”

“ _Who is this?_ ” you cut in sharply, pointing at the monster lady.

Your mother twitched, sighing, “My worker. Child, I know you are pro rights for these things-”

“ _She is a person. not a thing._ ” You snapped sharply, the furred woman looked worried and uncomfortable being on a spot light. “I can’t stop you, but I swear, you do anything,-”

“What?” she snapped right back. “What will you do, huh? This is _my_ house young lady, and I raised you for most of your life!”

“You are _vile_.” You shouted, almost screamed back, and hard. “Fuck coming to see you again, ma, you hear me? Wither in your old age!”

“ _Who_ do you think you’re talking to??” she hissed. She was a short woman, but she stamped forward like she was still intimidating.

You spun around sharply. “YOU. Fuck off you old hag! I find out you laid a hand on this monster's head and I swear I will declare you unfit and ship you off to the nursing home!”

You stormed toward the living room and the bunny woman scrambled to open the door for you before you reached it.

You stopped and wrote out your number, handing it to her. “you heard what I said. She does bull, you call me.”

You left without another word, not even sure if she _would_ call.

You couldn’t believe that woman. The scourge of the earth. Sexist, Racist, Specieist, every shitty ism there is, and, wow, top it off: she owns a slave.

There was a big fucking difference to owning someone’s _life_ and disapproving (loudly) about someone’s life choices.

Maybe you could have handled the constant rants about everything wrong with your siblings and how bad your life was going to be if you didn’t find a man and get married soon. But your mother was actually in _possession_ and _control_ of someone’s life!

You- you couldn’t even comprehend it! How could she? Even if the woman didn’t like monsters- she still _knew_ how sick slavery made you, how much you hated the idea of it- you’d ranted and actually _cried_ about it when the first slavery-law was passed! Even if she _hated_ monsters, that was just- just a betrayal of your trust!

It was a long, road-rage filled drive back into the city, and you’d never wanted to crash your care into someone or run someone over so bad, and you still weren’t done ranting and cursing by the time you’d parked in the garage complex. Same spot as always, second floor, right on the edge. You could see your car from your apartment window. that way when car alarms went off at 4 in the morning, like always, you could peek out and know it wasn’t your car.

You were still absolutely furious, and knew if you went home, youd probably start punching holes in the wall until you went to sleep. You decided it would be better to not have to pay a repair bill as you walked out of the complex and onto the sidewalk.

Glaring forward at absolutely nothing, pulling your coat tight, and still mentally ranting, screaming at your mother who could not hear you despite you not caring, you set course for Solars. You didn’t go in the afternoon very often, but, fuck it, you wanted drink and maybe start a bar fight with a stranger and maybe rant to Apollo or Grillby or maybe any friends who might be there for an hour not that anyone (accept maybe Grillby) would understand how fucked up owning a slave really was.

The fact that no one understood how _wrong_ it was like you did only served to piss you off even _more_.

You were too pissed or mad to hear the shouting ahead of you, and too pissed to realize that the crowd was formed around something as you started to rather aggressively push between people—until you were staring down the scene yourself and the screaming anger cracked and swept into your mind.

Angry old man with cane sure had fucking _pipes_ , god this guy can _scream_.

“—you _lazy, worthless, useless_ piece of _shit_! I'm sick and tired of your smart ass mouth, just shut the hell _up_!”

Crazy old man swung his cane, and guy on the all fours frantically dodged to the left by practically throwing their body.

“ _Sit still_ and take your beating, you useless shit! Learn your lesson!”

Another whack at the concrete with the cane and the guy dodged again, this time you watched the sleeve of the jacket twist wrong and instantly knew who ever it was was gunna be down for the count- and you were right, guy on fours became guy on his back as the twisted arm buckled.

That is a skeleton.

You’d rarely seen skeletons before. Huh.

Also, wow. You realized you were still _fucking pissed_.

How did you realize?

Well, suddenly, you realized you’d marched right out of the crowd and grabbed crazy old guys’ cain right before the descent of the third string- and hey, you did it like in the movies, sneaking up and grabbing it all surprise-ish.

Crazy old guy whipped around and then hit you with the cane.

Smack, right in the head.

You didn’t even move. God, crazy old guy couldn’t hit very hard.

No less, you twitched, furry mounting.

“Alright, choke wad.” You were _very_ mad. That was abundantly clear. “put the fucking stick _down_ or it goes up your _ass_.”

Crazy old guy was floored, and the cane lowered more out of confusion than anything, before sneering. “Who the-”

“Fuck am I?” you finished, twitching. “The person you just _assaulted_ physically with some- what, _45 witnesses_ as I tried to break up your _disturbing the peace_ and _abuse_ of a monster?”

The latter of these crimes was technically illegal, but probably, odds were, wouldn’t be enforced anyway. The assault, however, that made him sweat. Metaphorically.

He raised his cane in a threatening manner, “what you gunna do about it, you-”

“ _Kick your sorry ass_ with that stick your waving in my face until the cops show up and I take it covered in bruises to _court_ , you nasty little fucker.”

Pointedly, you pulled out your phone, making a furious and maybe a little over dramatic display of dialing 9-1- and then, “ _WAIT!_ ”

You looked at him with pointed impatience. “I have places to _be,_ shit face. I'm not _waiting_.”

“5-50! 50 dollars, just don’t call!” he raised his hands in the air, panicked.

“I don’t want your shit money.” You snapped right back in his face, leering.

He panicked as you looked back at your phone, and then-

“ _Take it!_ ”

You looked up, deadpanned and twitching. “What?”

“T-take it! the- the monster. Please! L-look, it’s well trained, skeletons come house trained and shit, doesn’t need to eat or drink, rare type too, and- and its supposed to be smart- j-just take it! Take it and leave!”

You twitched.

“You are using. That. As a _bargaining chip?_ ”

The old fart looked confused. “U-uh, Sure?”

You glared so hard crazy old dude looked like he was afraid he would combust until you finally spoke.

“ _Fine._ Give me his _paperwork._ ”

The old guy was crossed between looking relieved and still being frantic and pulled the brief bag at his side up, frantically trying to pull out the folder.

If you wanted to take your slave out, you legally had to have its paperwork with you; kind of like having a driver’s license.

As he scribbled out on a page about transferring ownership and giving up legal right and responsibility, it was that thought that pissed you off more as you shot a horrendous glare that scattered the crowds as they avoided your eye in embarrassment.

When he finally finished, you snatched and signed it, too, before snapping the folder closed. “You come near either of us and I _will_ jam that thing up your ass. _Get lost_.”

The guy nodded, made it a few feet, before turning, laughing- “JOKES ON YOU, BITCH, ITS WORTHLESS!” and he took off as fast as he could, hobbling on that cane.

“Fucking prick.” You muttered vehemently, stuffing the file in your laptop case- you weren’t carrying the laptop, not today, but it had a few other things in it.

You turned and guy on his back had become guy standing on his feet watching crazy old guy run away.

Then, he became guy standing on his feet and looking at _you_.

Fact. Skeletons are weird as fuck and their empty eye sockets creep you out.

He was smiling but you got the distinct feeling that didn’t mean jack shit. He looked pretty unreadable.

After a few seconds of staring at this guy you supposedly _owned_ now (and only an hour after disowning your mother for them same damn thing!), the thought _better me than that old fuck_ crossed your mind and you muttered something incomprehensible and furious.

“Whelp. Come on. That was fun and all, but I _do_ have somewhere to be.”

He didn’t say anything, and the only reason you knew he was following you after you walked past him was you caught a glimpse of him in the reflective surface of a store window. He plodded, wordless, a few paces behind you, hands stuffed in his pockets, empty black eye sockets watching you and smiling.

Horror movie quality, to be honest.

If the guy had any commentary about the ‘somewhere you needed to be’ being a _bar_ , he didn’t say anything about it.

He just followed you to the bar. You hadn’t even sat before you noticed Grillby wasn’t around and Apollo was behind the counter.

The older man looked surprised. “oh, honey, it is way too late for you to be here! you didn’t quit another job, did you?”

“Screw life, Ap. Screw life.” Was all you had to tell him, still furious.

You looked back at your skeleton companion. Same as he had been before, just standing behind you like a specter of death. Heartwarming. You note despite his jacket, he has no shirt, and he is not wearing shoes.

You wondered if it hurt his feet to scrape bone along concrete walking all day. Also, why was he not wearing a shirt. Weird.

“Hey, hey, who’s that?” Apollo looked on with wide eyes. “You finally got some help! Honey, it’s about time! You do so much work, you really need a good hand!”

“Please, shut up.” You growled tiredly. “Honestly not I just want to go home.”

“Don’t be so bitter!” he laughed back, “what do you want, dear?”

“Pure alcohol. High grade.” You moaned with a mutter.

Apollo laughed, shaking his head. “ill just get you your usual.” Once again, ‘the strongest thing you have nearby’. In ice.

“Much thank.” You muttered blankly. You looked back at your monster. God. He was _literally_ ‘your monster’, how disgusting. “You want anything there, Mr. strong silent type?”

He just stared at you.

“figures.” You sigh.

Apollo laughs, and dips off.

You sigh. And look back at him.

“Alright, pal. Just give me a minute will ya? Don’t get in any more fights with old men.”

He snorts slightly and his sockets are still looking at you, empty. Wow. Still creepy.

You just mutter in irritation again and move off toward the bathrooms- more to wash your hands and take a second to cool off than anything.

Grillby is just stepping out of the men’s room with a mop in hand when you get there. You wonder, as always, why that wooden object isn’t catching of fire. God Grillby is an enigma to you sometimes.

He crackles in surprise and checks a clock on the wall before looking back at you.

“Hotstuff, I know, I know, its really late for me to be here but dude, I need a drink. This has been a _day_ … and a _half._ Screw it, today has been _two_ whole days. That’s how much of a day its been.”

Grillby laughs and puts the mop down in the little cubby thing next to the bathrooms before guiding you easily with a point of his finger toward your usual spot at the bar.

To your utter exasperation, bone guy is _gone_.

You discover you don’t care right now as you take a seat and groan in furry.

You can hear Grillby chuckling. Apollo stops by having already made you your first drink. Grillby makes you two more as he waits to listen. Even prompts you by lightly tapping one of the classes on the counter.

You groan and mutter, “Issue one, my mom bought a bunny lady.”

Grillby has heard you rant drunkenly about your mother before. He is well aware of all her shit, and, you can tell he’s not surprised. He gives off a tiny spark of bitter anger, but, he isn’t surprised at all.

“Think you could like set her on fire some time?” you grumble, taking a drink.

He crackles dryly.

You chuckle back.

He prompts you for issue two.

You groan and finish your first drink.

“I own someone now, too.”

Grillby drops a glass that thankfully doesn’t shatter. “…what?”

You were both surprised at his reaction, but also not. You had always been loudly open about your opposition to the slavery bullshit.

You clutch the second drink.

“Dude getting his ass beat on the street, man. Freaked the old guy out who was whacking at him. Said id call the cops, guy said just take the monster if I don’t call the cops. Man I don’t know what happened.” You down the second cup. “Grillby, dude. I fucking _own_ someone. I don’t even know what happened. But like a figure he’s better off with me than like, still staying with that guy? Or sold off somewhere worse?”

Grillby waves and nods slowly. He’s saying he agrees, you know that, but you can see how weirded out he is about it.

You can understand that. You never thought in a million years you’d own a guy’s life.

“Grillbz?”

You turn your head as Grillby looks up, and, bone dude is back.

He looks shocked. Wow, an actual facial expression.

How does a skeleton make facial expressions?

“yo, when the hell did you get _eyes_?” you sit up, shocked. Yeah, he’s got little white pupils.

He looks substantially less like a nightmare walking.

Also, those look cool. What even are they?

He looks at you and he is again blank faced, and those pupils flicker out like small flames blown out. Oh he defiantly doesn’t like you.

“ _Eye’ve_ always had them.”

“ _Eye_ see what you did there, mother fucker. Great to know the first thing you say to me is a damn pun.” You grab the third drink and turn back around without seeing bone guys reaction. “so ya’ll know each other, hotstuff?”

“Hotstuff.” Bone dude repeats behind you. You chortle as Grillby looks between you to, still surprised.

He points at you, at Skeledude, then back.

“Ye. That’s the dude.” You respond mutedly, drinking your glass.

Grillby shakes his head.

“Stars, grillbz, last I heard about you ya you were in the circus. How’d you get behind the counter again?” skeledude was on the bench seat beside you now.

Well the fucker is certainly talkative now, aint he.

Grillby’s collar blinked. “I was at the circus when I was bought again to be a cook.”

Skeledude looked surprised at how loudly and clearly Grillby just spoke. Clearly, Grillby wasn’t very happy about it either, and looked back to making a drink with a tiny fiery sigh that made is flames puff.

You tap your glass in front of skeledude. “He’s under orders to have to respond to customers if they ask him questions.” You mutter.

skeledude shot you a glare.

“You’re a bitch.” You point out at him. “I'm going to the bathroom.”

He didn’t say anything in response and stared at you with empty eye sockets again as you left.

You decided you’d stick around in the bathroom a little longer than you needed to. You let the bone fucker have a little time with Grillby, you decided. Guy had been through enough today, let him spend a few moments with someone he knows.


	4. Bone Dude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sans the Creepy Skeleton

This by far was not the drunkest you’ve ever been, but, it was still pretty drunk. You’d only had the three drinks plus a weaker chaser just before leaving (to help you deal with bone dude because this guy was an ass).

It made the process of getting to the third floor up the stairs (the elevator was being fixed) quite the hike. Somehow, even though bone guy liked to walk like a creep a pace behind you at all times, he was already at the door out of the stair well before you. Fucking creep.

You paid it no mind- because really you didn’t care- and trudged all the way down the long hallway until the end before unlocking the last door on the left, your apartment. You held the door open for him first, and it took him a second to realize that, and he moved inside quickly when he did, and stood against the wall as he waited on you to re-lock the door.

When you finally flipped on the lights, you mildly notice bone guy had his pupils back, scanning the room.

You weren’t the neatest person- didn’t have time to be- but the place wasn’t horrendous. Mostly a few things knocked over from when you rushed around and an extra filled trash bag sitting here and there because you hadn’t had the time to take one/all of them out. At least it never smelled bad; “smell eliminating trash bags” man. Good shit.

It was furnished as if you didn’t live alone, and didn’t never have company; a big couch, two recliners. Several stools at a counter. A big dining room with several chairs off the side. That’s just how the place came furnished, really.

The windows were drawn wide- it cut down on the electricity bill during the day time as cheap lighting; you could see your care safely parked in the complex across the street. It was relatively silent save a slight sound of noise from the apartment over one. The walls were pretty bare, and there wasn’t much in the way of ‘personal effects’ or, as your siblings had called it, ‘signs of actually having a life’. The only thing you could consider ‘personal’ was probably the stack of books all over coffee table in a mess. And maybe the plants in all the window sills. They were easier to care for than pets.

You leaned back on the door, waiting for bone guy to get a good look. You gauged he was ready and set when his gaze flickered to you.

You walked down the hall and waved him to follow. He did in his creepy little way. You led him to the hallway with a few doors, pointing them out. “My room. Bathroom. Office. Spare and spare. Ya good?”

He just looked at you. “Ill take that as a yes.” You mutter hazily, rubbing your temples, before opening both of the spare rooms. Neither was very well furnished. They each just had a box spring and a mattress on the ground with a pair of folded sheets and blankets, and a pillow, each; with a closet full of empty hangers. The only real difference was that one had a window, and the other a somewhat bigger closet. “Your pick, dude.”

You left him to it and moved out of the hall past him and walked to the kitchen. You paused and looked around the kitchen. “UH. QUICK QUESTION, BONE GUY.” You called.

He was in the hall entrance when you looked back to find him after a second. Creepy as ever.

“Crazy old guy said you didn’t need to eat…?”

“He lied.”

Oh, got your first sentence out of him since leaving Grillby. Nice.

You wonder if the guy just assumed a skeleton didn’t need to eat without considering this was in fact not just a skeleton, and actually a living creature.

Then again, how does a skeleton even eat?

“Alright then. Did you eat then? With him?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” Welp. You wonder how long he’s been starving. You cant imagine he’s been with old guy longer than a week or hed probably starved to death- uh, then again, that was how _humans_ worked.

“well. I'm not always well stocked, but, anything in the house, bone guy. Whenever ya want.” you proceeded to get that glass of water you came in here for.

As you opened the medicine cabinet, looking for aspirin (you’d need that when you woke up with a hangover), you turned to point out the med cabinet to him, to find that he had moved pretty quickly to the fridge. His hand was up, but he was hesitating to open it.

“Go on, bone dude. Anything you want.” you prompted, looking back through the bottles in the cabinet.

You heard the fridge pop open.

“…anything.”

You hummed, “yeah man.” As an afterthought, you added, “And go ahead and get as much as you want, too, sounds like you’d be starving.”

When you’d found and taken out what you’d needed, you looked his way again, and he was still just kinda staring at the open fridge.

That’s a waste of cold air and electricity.

You put your stuff down on the counter and moved the fridge beside him, lightly nudging him with the side of your cup out of the way, making him jump. You pulled out a tray of lasagna you’d made yesterday. “You vegetarian or like, allergic to anything?”

He shook his head as you closed the fridge and cut a piece. You looked at the skeleton. You went back and cut another piece, doubling the portion, before popping it in the microwave.

“What, trying to put a little meat on my bones?” his joke was dry.

You scoffed. “Well, of course- id say you’re all skin and bones, but.”

Silence.

He chuckled once.

“Fuck yeah.” you muttered, putting the lasagna tray away.

“Goodnight, boney.” You called, taking your leave, “please throw the plate in the trash when you’re done, plastic forks in the third drawer from the left.”

You locked your door, put the water and pills on the night stand, shoved the paperwork off your bed, and jumped under the covers.

Asleep before you could count to 5.


	5. Routine Precedent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader still has no idea what Bone guy's name is, do they?

5 in the morning comes earlier and earlier every day, you swear it on your name.

The alarm clock is murder on your drunk head, so you slam it as quick as you can. You have to hit snooze to shut it up, then take a second to rub your eyes as you feel around for the little alarm switch. You turn it off so it wont blare again at the end of the snooze, and then on again, so it’ll be ready to go tomorrow. At 5 in the morning. Again. Like you had for the past two years.

Joy.

You take both pills, dry, and then all the water. You dread turning on the light or standing up, knowing that the meds wont kick in yet.

Your head is making you nauseous and life feels like torture but you roll out of bed and open your closet. You sort through the pile at the bottom in a rush, and grab what you need, almost slamming into your door as you raced across the hall. The speed made you throw up, or at least, that’s how it felt.

You flipped the shower on to the hottest setting, stripped and scrubbed, then dressed immediately. Fuck make up. All you need is Chap Stick, what with the city air crisp with cooler autumn air, and you brush wet hair in a hurry, before practically running out of the bathroom and leaping a pile of stuff on the floor as you speed through the hall.

Your socked feet slide you over hard wood into the kitchen, where you brush your teeth at the sink and throw toast in the toaster at the same time. You’ve just rinsed out your mouth and are pulling the popped toast out of the toast, when-

“You sure are animated.”

You scream and whip around, pelting your toast.

It ninja stars across the room.

Bone guy dodges easily.

Oh, right.

Bone guy.

“That was pretty _toast_.”

“Make a pun that shitty again at 5 in the morning again, and _you’re_ toast.”

He chuckled once.

You turn back to your remaining toast, muttering, “fuck yeah.” under your breath again.

Then you froze again. “Fuck _no_.” you changed your mind, whipping back around, pointing your toast at him accusingly. “I HAVE TO GO TO WORK.”

He blinked.

How the fuck does a skeleton blink?

He blinked anyway.

“And?”

You scoffed. “Meaning id have to like!! Leave you here!” and tore the bread in half and bit one. “A stranger alone in my house, dude. That is _concerning_.” You held up the other half of the toast.

He looked at it.

Hint not taken, apparently.

“Dude. Do you want it.”

He jumped. “Uh.”

He took the toast, looking at it again. You turned back around, stuffing the last bit of your toast in your mouth and wash your hands of toast crumbs.

You zip right past him, shoving stuff aside and start stuffing things into your laptop bag. “Alright I can’t leave a guy I don’t know alone in my house all day so, pack a lunch, bone daddy, you’re coming with me to work.” You made sure to grab his file and take that, too.

“…bone daddy.”

“Deal with it, man.” You scoffed, throwing a well packed bag onto the couch and jumped the couch back into the kitchen, snagging your lunchbox from the counter as you passed and used your foot to pop the fridge open as you opened the cabinet above you. You threw a small bag of chips into it and clacked the cabinet closed before pushing around the fridge and pulled out two water bottles and an apple.

You moved around this fast every day, it was practiced and easy.

Sans watched you, one brow raised.

He doesn’t fucking have brows how does he do that.

You mutter something and sharply zip the lunch box closed. You stopped and turned to look at him.

He still didn’t have a shirt or shoes, but at least his jacket was zipped.

You calculated how much time you’d have to stop and grab a skeleton some actual clothes between jobs. Maybe doable. You’d have to try. You could probably stop at the shoe store on the way to the bus stop.

If you hurried, anyway. You were wasting time looking at him, and city buses wait for no one.

“Grab that.” You called, and ran off after throwing the lunch box at him, and ran past into the hall and then into your own room without knowing if he’d even caught it. You grabbed the box you kept your emergence cash in (NEVER carry more than say 50 bucks on a usual day in the city. You get mugged with full pockets, you’re broke, baby), stuffed some into your pocket (the usual for Grillby plus more than usual to buy clothes and shoes), snapped the box closed and darted back out. You dodged past bone guy again and slid over the hardwood with your sock, and put on your shoes at the door while grabbing your bag off the couch. You note he had, indeed, caught the lunch box.

“come on, bone daddy, places to be things to do people to not talk to, yahta yahta yahta.”

He looked exasperated.

.

..

...

You managed bone guy a pair of socks and a used pair of sneakers from the store after dragging him down the road- metaphorically, as despite walking he still somehow kept up with your light jog.

You hopped a bus a little further down, and made it to job one.

Bone guy followed you into a fancier apartment complex than yours just as the sun was rising, and waited outside the bathroom until you re-emerged. In a maid outfit.

He looked shocked but you pointed at him with a glare. “Say _nothing_.”

He proceeded to follow you up the stairs and stand around doing nothing, watching you clean specific apartments that had hired you. You moved fast. You did the dishes and cleaned up kitchens and made beds and straightened up living rooms- it wasn’t a heavy duty day, no scrubbing or moping. You’d finished about 8 rooms in, say, two and a half hours, by then it was still pretty early in the morning. You changed back into normal clothes in a bathroom.

You and your following skeleton promptly left at the same jogging pace (not that he _jogged_ ), taking alleyways and even hopping a fence for short cuts until you were entering the back door of a large factory-like complex. Skeledude watched for two hours as you tediously worked a line belt job on two shifts. Firstly, going around and maintaining the conveyer belts, and then working at one, a painfully boring job of taking cheap headphones, testing them, and then coiling them up and using little twist ties to hold them that way for packaging down the line. Bone guy got so bored he actually started to do it too; you checked they work (since you had the ears), and then passed them to him, and he wrapped them up. The two of you kept getting looks from the other line workers. Annoyingly.

Then again, you’d never kept your avoidance of Monster Slavery hidden and they were all probably surprised you (ick) _had one_ now.

That job ended at around 11, and you sat with a sigh in the alley behind the building. Bone guy sat across from you. You threw him one of the bottled waters from the lunch box. “chips or apple.”

He picked the chips. You ate the apple. Your break lasted for about 15 minutes. Somehow, bone daddy worked in a nap and managed to wake up just as you stood and got ready to go again.

You took a bus to the edge of town. Spent a couple hours hauling bags of mulch into trucks. Bone guy watched from the side. Then you spent an hour unloading logs with a crew of other temps off more trucks. Bone guy watched.

You took the bus again, and at about 1 in the afternoon, you stumbled into Solars with bone guy a couple steps behind.

Grillby greeted you both with a nod each as you climbed up onto a stool. Bone guy took one beside you.

“hey, hot stuff.” You yawned, putting your head down on the counter.

He gave you a sympathetic glance, “welcome to Solars, what would you like to order today?”

As always, you didn’t answer and he started making the usual on his own.

“Ya gunna order, bone daddy?” you nudged him tiredly with an arm.

“I'm broke.”

“So am I, pal. Its lunch time. The broke gotta eat.”

“Uh. Burg?”

You yawned, “g’head and eat mine then. Don’t want it today anyway.”

Grillby, pre-prepared for you like every day, set your stuff down and you pushed the plate toward Sans, taking a drink from the alcohol.

You pushed the usual- price and tip- over the counter to Grillby. The booming voice of Apollo made you look up. “Sorry, flambo, money was tight this last week.”

Damn, he took the tip.

You glared as you watched the blonde man in his monkey suit leave.

You fished into your pocket and pulled out what extra you bought. You hadn’t stopped to buy Sans a shirt yet, but you’d had more left from the shoe purchase than you thought you would. It was about the amount of the normal tip you gave him, a couple dollars extra. You… supposed Bone guys’ worn jacket could last him another day without new shirts, right?

You stuck out your hand to Grillby, money extended.

He crackled apologetically at you.

“No sweat, hot stuff. Get it? sweat? Heat? Badum tss.”

Sans chuckled.

You muttered a quiet “fuck yeah.” and took another drink.

Grillby shook his head, quickly tucking the cash in the pocket inside his suit-y vest.

The plate was pushed back in front of you, now lacking one burger. For a skeleton, bone guy ate fast. You started munching on the fries. “You thirst, bone boy?”

Grillby crackled at your bad grammar.

“Your one to talk. _Oh wait_.”

Sans chuckled again.

“Fuck yeah.”

Grillby huffed.

“Anyway, Skeledude? Thirst?”

“I’d ask for a water, but grillbz-”

“Shouldn’t touch the stuff!” you sat upright. “Dude, thought of that yesterday. _Nice_.”

“ … … please stop.”

“Sorry, G old buddy, guess you’re just too hot to handle.” Bone dude pointed out.

“ _badumtss_. Someone just got ‘ _burned’_.”

You and the skeleton cracked up and Grillby shook his head disapprovingly.


	6. Purpose and Reason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bone dude and reader are not friends.

It was abundantly clear that the skeleton did _not_ like you. It had been obvious since the day you were ‘given’ him, and it still was a full week later.

You had your moments, of course. People don’t spend as much time around each other as the two of you did without getting alone for at least a minute or two.

He seemed to be less hateful when you gave him food, and didn’t openly glare for a couple hours after you visit Solars at lunch time to hang out with Grillby for a bit. He’d been pretty content with your presence for the rest of the day when you’d let him take his first shower- he took a _verryyyy_ long shower, you were sweating at the thought of your water bill. You’re sure he did that to punish you, too, because he did that, every time. Every. Day. Showering for a _whole hour._ You tried to take shorter showers to cope.

There were moments where puns and jokes came into play- mostly at grillby’s- where the two of you could laugh alongside each other- normally at grillby’s expense.

But other times the puns were just wittily thrown out in sarcastic, angry manners, kind of like how enemies might isult each other every now and then. He openly glared at you most of the time, and he was not content to be in your presence at all.

He rarely seemed content ever, actually, even outside your presence. He was pretty aimless, to be honest, sort of just wandered the apartment or stared- rather, _glared_ \- at you throughout work, your jobs changing day to day, just as hectic if not more so than the last. People questioned him the longer bone guy was around, and just to avoid the fuss, you said he was your body guard.

No one seemed to think he was capable of much, which you though weird, because day after day that glare on you got more horrifying, somehow.

It was unbearable by day 20. And he wasn’t making any attempts to hide it. He hated you. That was a fact.

Talking to him meant no responses, angry responses, or responses that somehow felt threatening even though he didn’t really make any threats. Looking at him made him tense and his glare darken. He basically just followed you around the house, glaring.

By day 30, you were freaking out.

Bone guy was in the bathroom trying to clean ketchup off his hands when you looked directly at the fiery bar tender.

“Grillby, he’s going to kill me in my sleep.”

The flame elemental had looked up in surprise. He pointed to the bathroom, where said skeleton was.

You nodded. “I can’t take much longer. I'm frankly just waiting from him to make some sort of move at this point, its freaking me out. It’s like a damn nightmare.”

“… he won’t fight you. … … not unless he has no choice.”

“Okay. Okay. So he won’t start a fight. But I mean. He’ll totally stab me in the back. And I mean that, literally.”

Grillby sighed, making his flames do the floof thing.

“That was real consoling, bud. Thanks. Thanks for that.” You let your face fall and your forehead crack against the counter. Grillby winced. That had to hurt.

“That’s a new meaning to a head-splitting headache, there.”

Oh, welp, bony was back.

“Pain in the head is better than the pain in my ass. Aka you.”

He snorted back at you.

Grillby crackled in amusement and sent you a consoling nod before walking off back to his work.

“Ya know what’s fucked up.” You said suddenly, lifting your head higher to watch the fireman go.

Bone guy grunted.

“That I forget he doesn’t have a _choice_ in working here for a few minutes just now.” You muttered, sliding off the stool. Grillby wasn’t a bar tender; he was a slave and he honestly had bigger issues than hearing yours.

You felt disgust welling in your gut as you walked to the front door, and bone guy followed you back to the next job.

By day 40, nothing had changed except maybe the malice level had risen some more. Day 41, he finally exploded.

Okay, no, that was dramatic.

The both of you were back in the apartment, and you were slicing up stuff in the kitchen to make a giant batch of soup that could last you a few weeks’ dinners while bone guy glared knives at your back from the table that would have killed you several times over.

Until, finally, his fist slammed into the table, the loud sound of two hard surfaces- bone and wood- startling you and you whipped around.

You don’t know when or _how_ he moved, but he was just in front of you. The hand holding the kitchen knife was held and twisted sharply and you dropped it, sucking in a short breath at the unexpected pain, and you found yourself pinned between two empty eye sockets and the counter. Black as the void, depthless.

“ _Hurry up._ ”

What.

“WH-what?”

His teeth ground, and at this distance- of lack thereof, it sounded unnaturally loud.

“ _What_ do you _want_ from me?” he snapped and you tried not to move. “ _Stop making me wait_.”

“d-dude-”

“ _What do you want me to do, huh?_ You’ve had 78 different jobs so far you’ve dragged me to. Am I supposed to _work with you_? You leave everything unlocked and accessible to at night, am I supposed to _pick up the house like a maid?_ You tell everybody shit I'm a body guard, _am I suppose to be?_ You leave me walking around half naked and you drag me around like toy, _am I supposed to BE the sexual toy?_ ”

you could feel his breath on your face and that kind of confused you since he didn’t have lungs, “ _why are you keeping me?_ ”

You stared at him. “Uh.”

Alright, you need to say more than just ‘uh’.

“Not if you don’t want to, not if you don’t care, no, and uh, _no definitely not_ I just haven’t had the time to get you a _shirt_ , and, uh, to keep ya safe is the short answer there.”

Silence.

“ _Please_ let go of my hand this is really starting to hurt.”

 He dropped it easily, before his collar could have kicked in, had that been registerable as a command.

He turned around and walked away. You heard his door shut.

You collapsed to the floor, trembling and slightly traumatized.

You noted absently he’d picked the room with the window.


	7. Sans finally gets a shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its worth noting that reader has very unhealthy reactions to just about everything

It was your first day off since the failed visiting-your-mother fiasco, and for the first time since 3 days off ago that you didn’t have to wake up at not-even-the-ass-crack-of-dawn-yet in the morning.

You crawled out of your room at around noon, slowly dragging a still sleep-deprived body to the bar and sitting.

The way your arm had been twisted still kind of hurt whenever you put weight on it, and it had been in the way of work- you had a lot of labor jobs, and the more tedious jobs like the one doing the headphones was hard without finer motor skills, which you avoided with this pain. Grillby had mentioned it when you picked up a drink and winced the day after, your blown it off as “probably an injury from work hahaha.” As bad as it may be, and not quite the most positive or innocent trait, but you were kinda pretty easy with lying. Grillby hadn’t had a second thought.

It had been several days since bone boy blew up on you like a freak (alright, no, that was harsh. Honestly he had every right to have done the whole thing.) and he’d spent them all avoiding you at home and playing the creepy silent starring game as he followed you around outside the house. He barely even talked at Solars, to you, or to Grillby. The whole week was generally awkward.

Boy it felt great to just sleep and not worry about shit.

But, now you had paperwork, hahaha.

You finally noticed bone guy asleep on the couch and huffed, smirking at him. He was pretty lazy, napping all the time. Even when he was being edgy with you, just napping in the living room. You wished you could be like that, closing your eyes whenever you wanted… and leaning deeper into the counter of the bar… just taking a nap…

You jumped awake with a snap when something touched your shoulder, falling right off the stool with a loud shriek and a dull _thud_.

Cursing and looking around in mild confusion and a much _less_ mild alarm, you see bone guys’ ugly sweat pants he’s had since day one here, and look up to see bone guy himself, watching you expressionlessly. You note, through the windows behind him, that it is now much later in the day.

How long had you just slept?

“Well fuck.” Escaped you almost inaudibly as you rub your shoulder where he’d apparently touched you and scoot a little further from him. “You know what time it is there, bone daddy?”

His head tilts just enough to be able to see the clock over the stove. “5 after noon.”

“Whelp.” Using the stool to support your weight as you stand, you shake your head. “did’ja need something?” your alarm has gradually started to fade.

He watches you a while longer. Kinda staring again in his creepy fucked up eye-less way. You like him better when he has pupils. Hmph.

You sigh when he says nothing. “Well alright then.” You look back at the paperwork- taxes. Gross.- and start shuffling it all back together again into neater piles. You’ll hate yourself later for that, trying to find a specific paper in the pile, but you need something to do with your hands in bone guys’ awkward and low-key frightening silence.

“I'm getting coffee.” You tell him simply as you pack your laptop. “you coming with?”

He says nothing, but when you’re ready and at the door, it looks like he’s going to follow you. Its right as your about to unlock the door and leave that he finally says something-

“you realize you aren’t wearing pants.”

You stop, look at him, look down.

Oh, right. Still in pajamas. i.e. just a really long shirt.

With an annoyed groan, you hand him the laptop back. “Hold that please.”

You leave your room again with a pair of sweat pants on and last minute tied back your hair, and passing bone guy again you take the bag with a muttered thanks. You open the door, and it once again takes him a minute to realize in the awkward silence that you’re holding it open for him before he moves quickly to get through it.

After locking the door again, he points out, “you also aren’t wearing shoes.”

“Fuck shoes.” Is your general response and you keep walking. “Shoes are foot prisons.”

“Uh.”

“Uh is right, bone daddy. Say it with me. ‘fuck shoes’.”

He doesn’t but you don’t really care. You both keep walking.

“Hell yeah they fixed the elevator!” when did they do that? Great stuff right there. “s’go, bone dude. Fuck stairs, too.”

You take the elevator, and he stands about as far away as physically possible in the small room. to his credit, though, that’s just about his normal walking distance from you, so it isn’t horrendously obvious. The pace he follows at behind you outside the elevator, however, is a touch longer than usual, and he’s glaring just a little harder than normal. He’s subtle but, it’s still noticeable.

The coffee shop is just a little ways away, about half the street down from the apartment building half way between it and the normal bus stop you two take in the morning. You don’t come to the coffee shop as often as Solars, but you’ve stopped here on mornings that are particularly hard. You know the place especially well, because your sister owns the shop.

She doesn’t appear to be here today, but, the woman behind the counter knows you well and starts on your usual- black coffee with only a teaspoon of sugar- as soon as she smiles at you. You ask bone dude if he wants a coffee. He doesn’t respond. You as if he wants any of the sweets in the case, instead. He doesn’t respond. You ask if he wants anything else off the menu, maybe. As expected, no response. By then your coffee is done, and its on the house- your sister made it a point you didn’t get charged here. You put a dollar in the girls tip jar anyway and she smiles at you again.

You leave the coffee shop and sit on the curb, leaning on a street tree. Bone guy stands beside you.

“You can sit ya know.” He, of course, doesn’t.

After you wait to see if he does, and he doesn’t, you comment instead, “I have time to make an extra trip today and the money to actually do it. What kind of clothes do you like?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thing about writing about 20 chapters ahead of whats actually POSTED
> 
> is reading comments
> 
> it's so bizarre someone asks like "blah blah blah" and im like bUT I JUST REFERENCED THAT WHAT DO YOU MEAANN and then i have to go "oh well they havent SEEN that yet because they're on chapter 6 and that was chapter 23 and that chapter is full of fucking spelling errors and not ready to be posted
> 
> and yet its also, like, i finish a new chapter (i just completed 24) and im like I CANT WAIT TO SEE THEIR REACTIONSHAAAAHHhhhhh oh wait theres like 18 chapters to post efore anyone even glances at this thats right
> 
> god this is kinda painful


	8. in which bone dude finally tells you his name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two months and you dont even know his name is sans

He’s been with you about two months, you realize.

For the past two months he’s followed you around to work, sat beside you at Solars, slept in the room right next to you (did he really sleep, though? you’d only ever seen him taking naps, honestly, and never in his room.), been eating out of your fridge and just been there every minute of your life for about two months.

The thought shocked you so suddenly that you dropped the bag of mulch you were hauling to the truck, and you face planted when you tripped over it.

Bone guy, staring from his seat on a truck bed not far away, tipped his head in slight amusement. He didn’t say anything. Of course.

You sat up, shook your head, and looked at him with a squint for a second. Then, shaking your head, you dragged the bag back up, and continued to work the hour, going over this epiphany over and over.

Seriously.

You hadn’t had more than an hour’s length out of bone guy’s presence, not accounting sleeping, in two months.

I mean, you hadn’t even heard his name before. You don’t even know this guys name.

Had he heard yours?

Your pretty sure he’d definitely heard it, actually, especially since a couple of days back you’d been fired from one of the temp jobs and your boss had been screaming your name as he gave you every little detail on how terrible you were at your job and as a person in general.

Anyway.

Okay, so you’d practically been running this guys life for two months, you owned him technically, you carried his files on you 24-7, and. You didn’t even know him. or at the least, his name. You knew like. Some stuff about him. He took a nap whenever he could, he tended to be slow but somehow kept up, he didn’t really clean, he was vaguely creepy and kind of pissy, and he liked that blue jacket. Even when you’d bought him a bunch of shirts, pants, and another jacket out of the thrift shop where you usually shopped, he still preferred that torn up and dirty thing. He never took it off. You also noted he’d stolen a pair of pink slippers from the store and he wore them around the house, but. Well that was about everything you knew about bone guy.

You were walking home after your last job that day, bone guy creeping like a creep behind you, when watching the smog and clouds in the sky you asked, “Yo. Is Bone guy offensive?”

He made a grunting sound, and you looked over your shoulder. He was hard to read, but the slightest cock of his head gave away a little of his- uh, either confusion or curiosity. Again. He was really good at not being readable.

You looked ahead again. “I dunno. Is it like a slur? Like. There’s a lot of slurry shit people don’t want you to use.”

“Like?”

“Like.” Hm. “Like, uh, well. Faggot, that’s one. Can’t use that. It’s a real rude name to call a gay person.”

“Why’s that.”

You were honestly surprised he was responding so simply. You two didn’t really talk, even at Solars. You just weird second hand conversation through Grillby or made dumb jokes.

“Well. It comes from this British word. Fagot, one g, is like a bundle of sticks. You light it on fire or throw it in the fire like fuel. Faggot, two Gs, they started using that after the Salem Witch Trial thing. They used to burn people accused of like, talking with Satan and being witches at a stake. They put the gay people in with the fagots, because they didn’t think they deserved a stake, and called them Faggots, with two Gs.” You shrugged. “They don’t do that anymore, but, uh, they still use the derogatory. Faggot, that is. For gays and sexualities that aren’t specifically boy-likes-girl-likes-boy. Pretty sure most people who use that, though, don’t even know where that, uh, comes from.”

You looked back at bone guy, “Anyway. That’s a slur. Ya dig?”

He was just as unreadable as ever.

“So uh. Is like, bone guy a skeleton slur?”

“Not really.”

“Hm.”

You looked forward again.

“Do you think ‘monster’ is a slur?”

“Eh?”

Now he actually sounded confused.

You looked back. “I mean. Is it, like, the technical term? Or just calling the whole species ‘monster’ just like a slur humans started using way back before the barrier and now it’s just. The, uh, species. Like, that’s where it came from, or something.”

He looks generally confused. “I, uh, wouldn’t know. Good point.”

“hmm.” You looked forward.

“Do you know my name?” you asked him as you rounded a corner into an alley.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think I ever told you it, ya know.”

“It’s all over your stuff.”

Right, you left out a lot of paper work and shit.

“Ah. Well, then, what’s yours?”

“oh.” Silence. “Sans.”

“Sans the skeleton.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Bet a guy like you can make a _lot_ of puns with that name.”

“Well, I'm never Sans-puns, if that’s what you mean.”

“Not surprised. Your pretty Sans-sational.”

He chuckled.

“Fuck yeah.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Say that.”

“Oh. Always been a challenge between me and a sib of mine. He hates puns. I do my best to make him laugh, it’s pretty hard.”

“Heheh. I can relate.”

And then, there was silence, as you considered the fact that Sans had a brother.

You walked home without another word, and that was that.


	9. Maybe there's a little trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4.5 months = 137 days = 3288 hours = 197280 minutes = 11836800 seconds = long enough to know a guy, apparently

Sans was asleep- not napping, actually sleeping- for the first time you could remember, and, in his room, for the first time you could remember.

You’d gotten ready for work as usual, running around to make the time, and you’d gotten to the door, turning and expecting to see him ready to follow you like a creep, as normal…

Nothing. No one there.

You’d found him in his room, asleep; this room didn’t have a lock, so it was easy to open the door and peak in. fast asleep.

You wondered if you could get this doorknob changed for one with a lock, since Sans was here kinda indefinitely. Then again, well, it wasn’t your doorknob, can you even do that? Change an apartment like that? Hm.

Anyway. Bone guy was asleep. At ass-crack-of-dawn-hasn’t-come-yet in the morning.

You were kinda jealous but also pretty sympathetic- I mean, he followed you schedule, so he either got as much sleep as you, or less than you.

You scribbled a note on a piece of text paper.

Went to work.

Take a rest and don’t forget to eat, you need some meat on those bones, remember?

Don’t let anyone in and don’t burn the place down. Do whatever.

Stop in at lunch time to bring you a burger from grillbz.

-see ya

Pretty simple.

You locked the apartment door behind you and took off for the day.

Grillby was happy to wrap up an extra burger for you today at lunch and handed you extra packets of ketchup- you rose an eyebrow at them because he gave you a LOT, but Grillby just crackled in amusement.

When you got home you were particularly drained- there weren’t any busses for this time to get from Solars to the apartment, and your lunch period was only so long, so you had to run and take a good portion of your short cuts to make the time.

You all but fell into your apartment when the door was unlocked, and slammed it behind you unceremoniously. You locked it again and walked over to collapse on the couch.

“Heyya.”

Ah, there he is.

You threw the bag in the air pointedly. it didn’t hit the ground. Good catch, bone guy.

“Have a good sleep?” you joked. “You were sleeping like the _dead_. Frankly I wanted to join you.”

“That’s the _spirit_.” He stated back. You heard the to-go bag crinkling as he opened it up.

When you looked up, though, rather than eating the wrapped burger or the fries, he was sucking a ketchup packet dry.

You starred.

“Dude. That’s so gross.”

“Have you seen how much mayonnaise and mustard you put on your food, kid?”

“Touché.”

“Anyway. What happened to not wanting me in your house alone?”

“I figure 4 and a half months of being around every single minute is long enough to know a guy wont, like. Start doing satanic rituals in your house. Or start a crime ring with your neighbors. Or stuff.”

“You know me well, then.”

You chuckled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “I don’t have work after this next hour job. So I'mma take a walk after. Free time. Pleasant walk around the city. If you wanna come, that’s your call, Sansy.”

“I think I preferred bone dude.”

“en quote: suck it up.”

He chuckled.

When you left, he followed.


	10. The Innkeeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the chapter where reader is kind of hurt by bone dude in a low key sort of manner
> 
> also, a random nuisance appears!

“What is this.”

You look at Sans. He’s looking at some of the random paper work scattered over the kitchen bar.

You lean over.

“My résumé.”

You go back to working on your laptop. You were hired to design a web page. Nice easy work you can do from home. You love it.

“You have a lot of… degrees and work experience.”

You hum agreement.

Three masters in Cyber security, Project management and Technical design. Bachelors in Business, Law in Economics, and Government Study. Associates in Human Development and Society. Minors in Psychology, Sociology, Labor Studies and several Language Studies. Which included your newest, Old Monster Languages. You actually weren’t finished with that, you were taking a few classes on the internet still. It was an easy class, though, considering humans didn’t seem to care much about monster culture… there wasn’t much to learn from human classes on it.

Work experience was pretty extensive. From various hard labor to a hundred jobs that many would call ‘steady’ that didn’t last very long. But they had all been done, from babysitting to budgeting to teaching to even a brief spin of stage acting and working for homeland security.

“I'm what you call a ‘jack of all trades, master of shit’.”

“Right.”

You continued typing HTML vigorously for hours, long after Sans had moved away wherever in the house to do whatever he was doing.

When you finally made your way into your email while taking a short pause in coding the page layout, you- found something you considered to be pretty _shit_.

“Did you know, legally, to keep a monster in domestic zoning in this city, you legally have to legally take them to get a check up from a monster physician?” you called. Legally. You made sure to put a point on that. Because this was a law you were breaking.

“Yup.”

“Thanks for the heads up, then, pal. I just got a damn warning and now I have to cancel work to take you. Or, ya know, they take you out of here.”

“Nice.”

You glare at the screen. “Good to know you’d rather be legally abducted than be here.”

“Heh.”

Well fuck him then.

You slam the laptop closed- briefly wonder if you may have broken it- and storm off to your room to go make a few calls that you won’t be in for work Friday. “Go fuck yourself, Sans.”

.

..

...

So, of course, later that week, you’re missing valuable work time. And you’re sitting in a waiting room filled with people and ‘their’ monsters.

You refused to sit; the room was full of people in chairs, with their monsters at their feet. There’s only one chair left, and you refuse to sit in it. Sans stands at your side.

You’ve been standing and waiting for a while, already busy concerned with missing valuable hours of work when you need the money and possible costs of seeing this doctor, when.

Your mom walks in.

With bunny lady on a collar and leash.

You are about 99% sure Sans felt your outrage skyrise, because he shifted slightly and turned his head to you very slowly.

Your mother took that final seat and you watched the exhausted, overwork bun lady sit at her feet, exhausted.

You twitch and turn to walk toward the little alcove that leads to the bathrooms hoping not to deal with her- when, _of fucking course_ , you hear her call your name.

You stop and take a very, very slow, deep breath and turn to face her, hands twitching. Sans is still leaning over the wall, now observing your mother.

You are also staring at her, and in the same little manner Sans likes to do. Expressionless, but yet, glaring. “What.”

Your mom looks still surprised. “W-well, are you- volunteering or something? What are you doing here?”

“ _What_ does that have to do with you?”

She stands and walks over to you, looking around like she’s embarrassed considering most of the room has looked up, pretty bored and seeking something to watch. Most of the humans go back to their phones and devices. “Darling, it’s just- this is a monster’s vet, and I highly doubt you have a-”

Your hands twitch and fist. You can’t believe _she’s_ the one embarrassed. You’re _humiliated_ talking to her. “This is not a _vet._ This is a _doctor’s_ office.”

Your mom looks exasperated. “Just, what are you doing here, sweethear-”

 _“What_ does that have to do with _you_?” you repeat bitterly. “What are _you_ doing here, eh? Do a little too much _damage_?”

Your mother’s face lights up with an embarrassed blush. “Keep your mouth shut.” She snaps in a whisper.

“You gunna try and tell me you haven’t hit her yet?” you scoff. “ _I can’t even_ go to your house longer than an hour or two without it, you think id _doubt_ that?”

She looks furious and the bunny lady who followed up behind her, who’d been looking embarrassed, looks up at you and back at your mother before down again, eyes a little bit rounder.

Your mom storms back off to her seat, doesn’t sit, grabs her purse and walks back outside. She knows she can’t do much in public. Can’t even yell without _embarrassing_ herself.

The bunny lady is about to follow, but you slip in front of her. “You still have that number?”

She looks at you for a minute. She reaches her hand- paw?- out of her pocket, and shows you the crumbled slip of paper. She smiles nervously.

You smile back. “You aren’t too bad there, right?”

She shakes her head. She must be allowed a little talking now, at least, because she whispers, “not the worst I’ve had.”

“You be safe okay?” you know she can’t wait in here much longer, you step back and she nods, before quickly vanishing out the door after her (hnngg) _owner_.

You notice several monsters staring at you from around the room, and one or two humans. You clear your throat and move back to stand beside Sans. He’s watching you, too. Of course.

“Friends of yours?”

Frankly, you’re surprised he even asked.

So, you figure you’d ought to answer. “My mother. Don’t know the monster lady’s name.” that’s all you offer.

You figure that’s all Sans would say. So you aren’t surprised he doesn’t say anything for a while.

But after your name is called to go in the back with Sans, he mutters, “It’s Doris. Doris the Innkeeper, of Snowdin.”

And the two of you walk in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly im wondering how much of my more subtle characterization and hints are being caught when it comes to reader and sans
> 
> like im staying real casual about a lot of it instead of diving into details and i wonder how much of the last several chapters has flown by under the radar as "filler" chapters
> 
> comment your Reader-Insert and Sansy theories, mate, i wanna see how much of everything you've all caught and how many wild guesses you have


	11. A different kind of "Heart Condition"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Heat turned up in here

You and Sans are taken to a patient room in the back of the doctor’s office, and he sits on the slightly cushy patient table with the paper rolled out on it. He’s obviously no stranger to this setting. You wonder what doctors were like underground as you wait for the nurse to flip through some papers. Or how many times he’s been to one of these above ground doctors, you wonder again, as the nurse turns to you.

“I assume you brought the files, please.”

You open your side bag, pulling out the binder- the folder you had been using that had come with it when the old man gave you the papers had been old and you figured the binder would just be better.

The nurse flipped around through it. She set it on the counter. “Alright, it looks like this is your first visit with him. I'm going to ask you some questions, please be specific and honest.”

You nod, sitting on one of the cheep chairs while the nurse sits in a swivel office chair.

“How long have you had your monster?”

“5 months.”

“About how much of that time has your monster spent in your direct presence?”

“Just about all day, s’long as we’re awake.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being resistant, 10 being docile, how obedient without the aid of the collar is your monster?”

“Uh.” You squint. “Prefer not to answer.”

The nurse looked up at you, frowning, but sighed. Clearly, she circles something. That is definitely an answer you can make, apparently, even an option for it. You keep that in mind.

“Has your monster exhibited signs of aggression, and if so, please rate this; 1 being minutely, 10 being considered serious.”

Impulsively, you answered, “None.” but, then, as you thought about it, you were lying. He was kinda aggressive, glaring a lot, and then there was that one night a while back between counter pinning and yelling and hand twisting. Honestly, you didn’t care enough to change your answer, and the nurse was already moving on.

It did not escape your notice that Sans let out a small breath of relief.

“Has your monster shown signs of sexual activity or sexual interest, either with a, other monsters, b, humans, c, yourself, d, animals, or any combination thereof?”

“U-uh.” You’re eyes widened slightly. You looked at Sans. “Uh, have you?”

He chuckled, grinning at you sharply. “That’s none of _your_ business.”

You shook your head. Wow. You looked back to the nurse. “Uh. Not that I’ve, noticed? Prefer not to answer, honestly. Jeeze.”

You would really not consider anything of that nature with this guy you were currently living with.

Your nurse looks between you two, but, she seems to honestly care about this as much as you do- which is very little. She circles the thing.

“Is your monster of maturity age?”

You shrug. You look at Sans. “Are you secretly a toddler, bone boy?” he scoffs. You look back at the doctor. “I assume yes, he’s ‘mature’. Not that he can _act_ like it.” he scoffed again.

The nurse really doesn’t care.

“Are you aware monsters of mature age and certain species are subject to ‘Heats’ and sexually agressive outbursts?”

“Uh.”

You look pointedly at Sans. “I'm going to assume that if that were a _problem_ , you would have _mentioned that_ , Sans.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry about it. There’s still self control. I don’t plan on _boning_ anyone, pal.”

You watched him closely. You didn’t say anything and he crossed his arms leaning back on the wall with another scoff.

The nurse sighed irritably and so you looked back to her, though your gaze flickered back to Sans periodically.

“Do you have plans or desires in the future to consummate your monster?”

A pointed “ _no._ ” is all you need to answer with.

“Does your monster perform tasks that include sexual activity?”

“ _No_.” _jeeze_

“Does your monster perform tasks that are rigorous or physically demanding?”

“Nope.”

“Please describe the nature of your monster’s purpose.”

You look at Sans. Squint.

“uh.” You decide to just go with that joke you’d been using, “bodyguard.” You try not to laugh because again while he can get pissy he definitely doesn’t seem the body guard type.

The nurse blabbers on with questions and eventually she leaves with Sans’ file.

You can’t help staring at Sans, and it’s sort of like the situation is reversed from the norm, because now you’re the one staring at him obviously and blankly and he’s the one ignoring it.

The doctor eventually enters, with Sans’ file and sorts.

He says he will need a sample of bone and magic, Sans doesn’t even flinch at the mention and when you stand sharply to protest, the doctor assures you, both are just like taking blood samples.

You argue a little, but give in, sitting again. The bone scrape takes only a minute and the magic sample is just as easy. Sans doesn’t even react to any, although, you can tell by the slight hitch of his shoulder that it does hurt.

The doctor goes over heats with you very briefly seeing as the question, ‘do you know about them’ had been marked no. He explains that, yes, Skeletons are a monster species that has heats, and yes, according Sans’ file, he is matured and has had heats before, including around (ick) other _owners_ who have reported them. Sans is apparently, as he said, very controlled.

He gives you this weird little flier, which lists heat symptoms- Coloring of the face, sweating, unsteadiness, clumsiness, abnormal magic, increase in sexual activity, etc- and warnings- some monsters get agitated, more physical, and sometimes a heat may be dangerous leaving magic less stable- and provides a list of ways to deal with it- locking your monster up, taking them to a kennel for it to be “dealt with”, dealing with it _yourself_ , there are some special medications, there’s just waiting until it’s over…

The whole thing creeps you the fuck out, on many horrendous internal levels.

After that, the doctor requires a magic display and a soul exam to finish up.

The first part of that goes pretty easy. Sans makes a bone appear out of thin air that falls into his hand, then it turns blue. He lets it disappear a moment later, and his eye flickers every time he does something magical to a blue iris.

When the doctor tells him to pull out his soul you leap from your chair in surprise and pointedly turn around.

The doctor laughs. “It’s just a monster soul, you know. No need to panic.”

“Don’t care.” You respond pointedly. “In the future, _maybe_ give people some warning. People deserve _privacy_.”

He just laughs again and the room gets a little brighter as you assume Sans’ soul comes out. After awhile, the brightness goes down, so you turn back, and Sans has his hand on his chest and is giving the doctor a nasty little look that even rivals the ones he’s given you before.

“ALRIGHT can we _leave now_?” it wasn’t even you and you were uncomfortable. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how Sans felt about it. How _violating_ it had to be.

The doctor chuckled at your impatience and scribbled in the binder. He nodded, “yes, yes, that should be all. I would have a word with you in here, please, though. Your monster can wait in the hall.”

You cringed (‘ _your_ ’ monster) and sighed. “You chill with that, bone guy?”

He shrugged. His hand stayed at his chest almost defensively. “Take your time, princess.”

He stepped out quickly, just happy and fine about leaving the little room.

He liked the doctor even less than you.

He turned to said man, who closed the binder. “Your monster is in a dangerous place, I'm afraid. I’d say you ought to either put him down or try and trade out, I regret.”

“w-what?” you were. Shocked. “Sans is just _fine_ , and that- those are the most disgusting things I have- ever _heard_!”

The doctor raised a brow at you, but shook his head and continued. “Look. His HP levels are already ridiculous. I can’t imagine he could stand any kind of attack and survive, and if you’re using it as a body guard, you have literally picked the absolute worst monster. DEF is 1, ATK is 1, HP is 1, it has to be by far the weakest monster I have ever seen. And either way, his stats- monsters with low HP like that- even HP of 10 or 12, they tend to fall down very easily. I imagine with his HP that low, it’s going to fall any day. He is literally on borrowed time.”

Honestly, you wish this guy- would, like, _pick_ already. It was pissing you off, the way he jumped between He and It.

“Okay, how can you raise HP, then? How do I work with this rather than just- sell him off somewhere to _die_ or kill him myself, huh?” you snapped, less than happy with him, that was for sure.

The doctor sighed. “How much does your monster sleep?”

You rolled your eyes, more at Sans’ lazy side. “Naps all the time.”

“Good. Sleep restores a monsters HP higher than normal, so naps are good if you want him to not die from say, any miniscule injury. But that’s about all there is. HP limits rarely, if ever, go up and only go down. I have to recommend you to get another monster, if you want a body guard.”

He handed you your binder and you glared at it as he left, leaving the door open. You stuffed the binder back in and stepped outside the door to find Sans standing against it. You sighed, looking at him. He looked back, hand still cupped over that spot on his chest.

“Let’s go to Solars, yeah?”

He nodded.

Luckily, you didn’t see your mother as you left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao so much just happened in one chapter and 99% that most of you didnt catch 50% of it and everything else is just being hinted at


	12. HoPe at its finest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where sansy falls for his own ketchup prank

It was obvious that things had shifted between you and Sans the very minute you had left the doctor’s office, but, the both of you were dedicated to ignoring it.

Whatever “it” exactly was.

Grillby, apparently, didn’t have that same idea. From the first few seconds that you and Sans had sat at Solars’ bar, it was pretty obvious.

The two of you hadn’t been there for lunch earlier that day, and when Grillby had finished his required greeting, you had placed an order instead of just waiting for the usual, asking for three drinks of whatever nearby instead of any food.

Every second made it more obvious, you had to admit, because there was a total role reversal. Now Sans was pointedly ignoring your staring, and it was you who was unresponsive. Eventually Sans shifted from making puns at you to doing it whenever Grillby was looking toward you two.

Which effectively clued Grillby in, of course, and that was kind of amusing, watching the fire man staring at you two and hovering, trying to figure out what was the deal but being the usual subtle and calm Grillby.

No less, you drank until you were wobbly and stood up, giving Grillby his usual tip and the price of the drinks- including that of the one Sans had ordered when it had been clear you planned on staying to drink for a while.

You wobbled home- with a surprising amount of dignity, honestly; you didn’t fall even once- and you held the door open for Sans- which he was starting to get used to.

Neither of you spoke all night, and you locked your door and checked it an extra time before going to bed. The next morning, you weren’t as quick at moving along, or as efficient at work. At break time- there were two of those between jobs on a good day not including lunch- you let Sans take as long a nap as possible before standing, and he woke up as usual on his own when you did.

When you went in for lunch that day, that’s when Grillby made his move. Of course, he lay in wait the whole time, until finally Sans used the ketchup and _splat_.

Sans was in shock and started laughing like crazy. “Grillbz, buddy, that’s _my_ joke, wow!” you don’t think you’ve heard Sans laugh like that for the past 5 months you’ve known him, even though he was covered in ketchup and his food kinda ruined- uh, scratch that, Sansy would prefer it like that, wouldn’t he, drowning in ketchup? No less, he seems PRETTY happy with that prank.

Grillby chortled in his own fire-crackle-sound kind of way, quick to clean the mess, until Sans slid down off his stool and started his way to the bathroom to clean himself off some. You watched him go the same way he normally did to you. you were kind of happy Grillby has managed to lighten the bag of bones up a little.

“…tell me what happened.”

You looked at Grillby. Ah, so the ketchup prank _wasn’t_ the only thing up his sleeve.

You watched Grillby for a minute as he cleaned. “What’s your HP?”

The flame of his face turned a little blue.

“Is that personal, then?”

He nodded.

“All right. Scratch that, then.” You sighed. “You know what HP is, though?”

He nodded. You figured. HP was a monster thing. He tapped his chest. “…HoPe.”

“Hope.” You repeated, flickering gaze toward the bathrooms. “Sleep makes it higher. In a way. Yes?”

Grillby nodded.

“…how do you make someone… a monster, how do you get HP stats to rise?”

Grillby reacted in a way like a cringe. He looked back at the bathrooms, too. Ah. So Grillby knows Sans has low HP.

“…cant, really.” He said quietly, throwing his rag toward a sink carefully now that the ketchup was cleaned up. “…monster food and sleep raise points… that’s about it, other than… staying happy.”

You think that’s more than Grillby has ever said in a straight sentence to you before.

Monster food was a bit of contraband these days. It was still being tested for human consumption, but, monsters knew how to make it. Not all of them, of course, but, it could be gotten at stores with a monster to make it aand a permit to sell the stuff. It was strictly monitored, but not impossible to come by.

Staying happy, though. seems like something that would help “HP”.

“…how do I make Sans happy?” you asked, frowning. You hardly knew much about him, after all.

Grillby pulled a pen from his vest pocket and grabbed his order pad.

He was back to work and the paper was tucked away in your bag by the time Sans came back.


	13. How to Buy Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which im absolutely certain this is the most evil cliffhanger i have ever left at in my entire writing career hehehehehe

A couple nights later, you were pretty sure he was faking it. But, he was lying in his room, ‘sleeping’.

Don’t ask how you know, you just knew, that when you opened his door this morning that he wasn’t sleeping.

It was later than normal, you didn’t have work the first half of the day, you had planned on trying to convince Sans to stay home today, anyway. So, you wrote a note and stuck it to the door-

Lots of naps and eat something.

Be back by lunch to hand over Grillby food.

Don’t do anything stupid.

-later, skull face

-and took one last look at the… “sleeping” monster on his bed and in his blanket (he never used the sheet), and left with a tired sigh.

You locked the front door behind you, but stood just outside, counting your breaths as you kept them quiet.

And there was the sound of his bedroom door opening. Definitely awake.

Proven right, you walked down the hall quietly and took the elevator down. you pulled the folded piece of paper from Grillby out of the pocket of the hoodie you’d thrown on and sighed again, stuffing it back in. you crossed the street and got your car, used your phone as a GPS, and made your way a town over for the mall.

Best place to get some of this stuff, anyway.

You stopped at a gas station to refill along the way, and before you knew it, you were there and your GPS was chiming at you. You hassled with a parking lot before finally finding yourself walking the tiled halls of the sprawling two-floor shopping mall.

Your first thought was to get some more clothes. Sans liked loose clothes, and kept it pretty plain, that much you knew by now. You normally shopped that dank thrift store near by your apartment for yourself and you’d done that for him, but, you figured since you had a _couple_ nicer things you could grab him something better too, right?

You figured you’d stop at the hot topic and found three different shirts with a pun. You sprung for all the little pins you could find in the bin with jokes or dumb iconic images- definitely taking the skull and cross bones one you found. You grabbed a pair of jeans, cargo shorts, and a pair of nicer shoes since he’d already worn a hole in the used ones from the thrift store. That got you a coupon you could use if you ever came back, but, you didn’t think you’d ever come back here before it expired. You handed it off to someone else who smirked and thanked you.

Then, you looked at the list from Grillby. First stop was books-a-million. You grabbed three different books with astrology and constellations and galactic formations and a lot of pretty pictures and science. You didn’t care much for space, yourself- of course, who wouldn’t find looking at these kind of things pretty or didn’t know a constellation or two?- but according to Grillby Sans really had a thing for space and stars that you didn’t quite share so strongly. While you were there you crossed a book of puns and snorted, grabbing that too. You grabbed yourself the next LumberJanes volume since they had happened to have it. You had to stop yourself when you hesitated at the Manga section and walk past it muttering unhappily. You couldn’t waste the time; if you went in there you wouldn’t come back out for days.

You had to find a directory to find the store you’d looked up here that was specially licensed to carry monster food- not a _single_ one in your own city. The one here didn’t really have most of the names of foods Grillby had mentioned on the piece of paper, but, you managed a large box of ‘chisps’, a smaller one of ‘nice cream’, and a monster food ketchup. You bought a LOT of that, a couple big jars, seeing Grillby had underlined that a lot. The other thing he’d underlined, ‘hot cats’, no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find. You got a lot of weird looks from the cash register for your choice in purchase- ketchup, ice cream, and chips, haha, weird, you had to admit.

You look into buying a trombone, but, that’s really expensive. The same place, a hobby story, also has telescopes, also on the list… but, also, too expensive. You sigh. You try to haggle, even, but you can’t get the store guy low enough. You buy a whoopee cushion, a joy buzzer, and a sewing kit with blue thread (instruction and all, nice), and call it quits to leave the store.

You stop one more time to get a couple groceries, and are staring at the cart full of bags as you walk toward the doors to your parking lot, kind of wondering how the hell you’ll get all of this to the car when you can’t take the cart out of the mall doors, when your cart bumps into someone.

You wince as you’re cursed out, and the guy moves away, stopping to look around where you are.

Oh, god.

A monster auction.

You really, really don’t want to be here, and you are 200% ready to get the hell out of the ‘special event’ that’s unfolded at the mall entrance since you got here, when you look up and.

Look at the monster currently on the raised platform. Your eyes meet.

…You do something stupid.

You bid.

You win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nyeheheh have fun with that see you tomorrow for what happens


	14. Two Skeletons One Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you have several problems on your hands.

You wonder, perhaps, if you are just downright stupid.

I mean, honestly.

Sans put enough weight on your budget- and you hadn’t had to _buy_ him.

Now, here you are, _buying_ someone.

 _I mean, there is so much wrong with this,_ you mentally scream at yourself as you wait behind the platform.

You won’t have time to get Sans stuff from grillby’s, for starters, you had to wait (painfully) through the auction as more monsters were sold to get (ouch) yours. Then there’s the fact that you just drained yourself of all money on your person, god, you were almost out bid so many times. Then there’s the fact that you _actually just bought someone’s life._ Maybe you could have (and had) said to yourself Sans was _given_ to you, you didn’t buy him, but- wow you had definitely just bought someone and there is no lying to yourself about it.

God you felt absolutely disgusting and you just wanted to demand a refund but, honestly, that too is disgusting, theres no way in hell you could _send back_ this monster, I mean. No way. Nope.

Maybe it was the look in those eyes, but, god. God damn it. Couldn’t leave them impossible nope couldn’t happen. Damn. Damn damn damn. Since when were you such a softy? Damn.

A man finally approached you, laughing as he walked away from another (ugh) buyer who had (hng) been sold a tiny little fire person that kind of reminded you of Grillby. You kinda had to freeze because you were pretty sure you recognized that (hhh) buyer and then kind of gagged, god that was your moms neighbor! He used to give you cookies! He _bought_ someone?

Well ,then again, _you_ owned _two_ people now didn’t you?

Oh god you felt sick.

Anyway, there was a man approaching you, file in hand, grinning away now. You recognized him as the seller of your newest (uuuuughhh) slave.

“Hey there, you’re on me, right? Right, right, got it for you all nice and ready, just gotta sign the ownership transfer.” He flipped open his little manila file folder and handed you that and a pen. You signed it as swiftly as you could manage, trying not to let your hands show how much you shook.

“Thank you, ma’am, he’s right over there at the line, you know your one!” He walked off, laughing happily.

Way too fucking happy for a guy that just sold a person, ugh.

“Oh, real quick!” he turned, still sickeningly happy. “I hope you don’t have issues with volume at home! And DON’T let him cook!”

Way too fucking happy for a guy that just sold a person, ugh.

A person you just _bought_. Damn it damn it damn it.

You hurried over to the line of monsters tied to a sort of standing rail like horses at an old saloon, being met with new owners. You showed off the monsters’ file (ugh) and the guard nodded to let you to take him (ugghh).

You wasted absolutely zero time untying his hands. “Please come with me.” And, then, promptly made back to your cart as quickly as you could while fighting throwing up of throwing something.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, HUMAN, YOU ARE LOOKING ILL!”

God damn what will the neighbors think of that yelling you live in an _apartment_.

 _Why are you worried about the neighbors you just bought someone holy fuck get your priorities straight holy shit_.

“I'm fine. Fine, fine, fine, perfectly fine, absolutely fine.” You called the first back to him, but trailed back into mutters.

You wondered if Sans would flip a shit and try to pick a fight that you brought home another monster, too, god damn.

Awh, fuck, what about work? You can’t go to work today, now with this guy (eugh) freshly bought at your side. He doesn’t even have fucking clothes he’s wearing scraps and there’s no way in hell someone that tall is easy to shop for. Especially now that your budget is so. So utterly _fucked_ there’s no way you could afford this fuck fuck fuck fuck. And that meant a trip to the monsters’ doctor again, too, oh shit, when would you have time for that?

“HUMAN I INSIST YOU ALLOW ME TO PUSH THAT HEAVY CART FOR YOU! UH- THAT- TH-THAT IS IF YOU WOULD _ALLOW ME_ TO INSIST!”

Well shit shit shit.

You groaned, and stepped back. He took the cart happily. It’s not like you could tell him “no you aren’t allowed to insist” and frankly you do feel like you’re going to keel over. The idea that your _slave_ is _doing something_ though. god.

Lazy Sans didn’t really do work, but, well now you had someone actively playing the “slave” angel and doing shit. God god damn.

On the absolute only bright side, you have help to carry the _grocery bags_.

“H-HUMAN, YOU- YOU SURE DO HAVE A- A LOT OF KETCHUP.”

The guy sounds like hes going to cry.

You feel the same.

“yeah. yeah I do, Papyrus.”

You had a whole lot of _ketchup_ to go with a whole lot of _problems_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well everybody basically ALREADY KNEW WHO IT WAS so fuck my attempts at cliffhangers


	15. Bone by Bone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grillby says what the fuck

You’ve been standing in Solars for a while now. You’d asked Papyrus to please wait in the car while you grab things to go, and he’d obliged happily- the poor guy looked _dead_ tired- stop stop now is not the time for puns.

He was tired enough that he was just fine not having to get out and stay “guard the car” for you, as he put it.

Finally you saw Grillby and you flopped onto the counter close to him. “Grillbz, Grillby, Grillbz, please, help me.”

The fire monster seemed amused by you, already preparing your order as he asked, “welcome to Solars, what would you like to order today?”

“Please make that to go and give me as much ketchup as you can. Oh god,” does Papyrus want food? Fuck. “And uh and two extra burgers.”

He looked surprised. One extra burger was enough for Sans.

“yeah, yea, here’s the thing, Grillbz, Grillby, dude, I can’t afford to tip you today I really can’t because _I just bought another monster please help me._ ”

You heard the light thud sound as the fire mans weight suddenly hit on the counter with both his palms.

“…are you kidding.”

You groaned and quietly slid off the counter onto the stool and buried your head in your arms. “I got stuck in an auction and I looked up and I was starring at these terrified eyes man the dude was terrified but he kept trying to smile up there like he was happy and okay with the whole deal and I fucking melted Grillby I melted I couldn’t let some fucker break that face man so I bid and now my pockets are almost fucking empty dude I'm going to go broke and now I own another guy sitting in my car holy shit.”

“…you are… crazy.” He sounded like, and looked like, you had just grown three more heads.

“I'm a fucking softy man god I used to be able to kick puppies and go on with my damn day and now I'm buying people and going to get all three of us put on the street and I own two guys holy shit how did this happen.”

Grillby dropped your to-go bag on the counter and pushed your usual drink toward you. You drank the whole cup in one go, and proceeded to take that bag with a moan. You paid and gave Grillby the few extra bills you had left- only 4 bucks- as a tip.

“…good luck… please be careful…”

You moaned again, “Thanks hot stuff. You two man. Be safe. Don’t let me do this again, or, ya know, I'm going to die.”

You slipped outside and then into your still running car in the driver’s seat.

“WELCOME BACK, HUMAN.” You’d told him your name on the drive, he was. Very chatty. But he seemed to like human better anyway. You didn’t care.

“Heyyyy, Papyrus.” You greeted weekly, pushing the bag in the space between your seats out of your lap.

“…HUMAN, GREASE IS BAD FOR YOUR HEALTH.”

“Hhhh, man, it’s the cheapest way to eat, and man I'm going to need to eat cheap for a while now.”

“I SEE. PERHAPS I CAN MAKE SPAGETTI FOR YOU SOME TIME! I WILL NOT CHARGE YOU!”

“Yeah, sure.” You did not mention that you would by the ingredients. He seemed to light up too much.

You parked in the complex, and Papyrus loaded up with most of the various bags leaving you with only a few.

Scuttling your way across the cross walk to your apartments, and riding up the elevator, you felt so much dread eating into you.

God moment of truth. Maybe if you were lucky Sans would just spear you through with one of those fancy magic bones and you wouldn’t have to _deal_ with _any_ of this anymore.

You pause. That was a vaguely dark thought now wasn’t it. joy.

Half way down your hall you stop and turn to face your newest skeletal companion. …what was your thing with skeletons, anyway?

“Look, Papyrus, here’s the thing. There’s other people all around us, so, I need you to. _Try_ and be a little quieter? As long as you’re here. Outside, fine, fine, sure, be as loud as you want. But they can kick us out if you're _too_ loud, alright? Can- can you try to keep it down in here? Please?”

Papyrus looked around at all the doors and smiled down at you after a moment. His collar didn’t even blink. “I will try, human!”

Oh thank god. That wasn’t outright screaming, oh, god, thank the _stars_.

“One more thing.” You added, shifting. “There’s, uh. Another monster who lives with me. He sleeps a lot so don’t wake him and stuff. Just. Be nice?”

“I assure you, I am very friendly! I will be the utmost kind!”

You smiled, “Honestly, man, I don’t doubt that. You’re a real nice guy.”

He beamed. Wow. Really chipper guy. Total opposite of Sans.

God you hoped they could get along you had no idea what you were doing anymore.

Papyrus followed you to your door and waited patiently as you unlocked it, and carefully you looked inside. No sign of the shorter skeleton. You opened the door and he moved inside, and you followed, closing and locking the door.

Turning, you pointed Papyrus to the kitchen, nodding that he could put his stuff down as you crept toward the hallway. He seemed to get the idea and mimicked- or, uh, tried to- your attempts at quiet. Stealth was apparently not his specialty.

Sans’ door was closed, but he’d taken the note down, and the light was on as you could see from the cracks between it and the door frame.

“Hey, bony?” you knocked, carefully. “You awake?”

 ‘awake’. Huh. You recalled his fake sleeping. That felt like a _long_ time ago, honestly.

The door opened. Sans stood there, unreadable. What a surprise.

“There’s, uhm. Someone else here.” You said carefully, glancing toward the kitchen. “Maybe, uhm, take a look at that.”

You could detect his slight confusion, as unreadable as he was. You moved aside, and he started to walk down the hall, you following close on his heels.

You thought, for a moment, time froze when they locked eyes. Because _everything_ went completely still. And you found the sudden tension so shocking you couldn’t move.

“…pap?”

_“SANS!”_

So much for staying quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got asked a couple times now what it is im experimenting with this story.  
> As most of you know, i always have some sort of theme with my stories.   
> my long-running, main series, "Above World Tales" is the primary example where my experiments revolve around the Undertale World itself as well frisk and their relationships, and Intense and more powerful mental emotion and reactions.  
> the first book in this series "The Reader-Insert Series", in the story called "Peaceful" i'm experimenting more with Papyrus and with more domestic mental processes and less intense mental emotion and reaction such as greysexuality and autism. 
> 
> So a lot of the dedicated fans are asking whats the dip and deal with "SlaveTale". In simple, i'm studying society, and middle ground to intense emotions. also the growth of depression, and how characters may develop in a situation where they LITERALLY CANT SOLVE THE PROBLEM. Reader isnt the issue, its the law and legality so they have to play inside lines to protect sans, and now papyrus. the roles are interesting to watch develop, especially with reader, and their very complex mentality. its perhaps the most complex character i've written, and most of you have SEEN my frisk from Above World Tales.


	16. Deep breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the baby bones aren't the only ones who will cry

You weren’t aware skeletons could cry until now, honestly. How’d they do that without tear ducts?

Didn’t really matter, you supposed, watching Sans the expressionless tearing up as he latched on to a wildly crying Papyrus whom had jumped the kitchen bar and picked him up without hesitation.

Now they were kind of huddled together on the floor. Crying like- like, uh- like baby bones.

From the sounds of their blubbering-

“Oh my stars, Papy, its really you, it is, bro, oh my god!”

“SANS, BROTHER, I CANT BELIEVE IT IS YOU, I CANT BELEIVE IT!”

-you had come to the understanding that they were, wow, brothers. What a. coincidence.

Okay they were both skeletons, maybe you could have guessed, but wouldn’t. That be like? Specieist? Assuming two skeletons knew each other, even more so, were related? Isn’t that the same of like looking at two Asian kids and being like “Oh look, brothers.”?

Well this kind of cleared up a number of your problems associating how Sans would react to Papyrus, though, not all of them, but you were willing to let this go on for now before you had to deal with any more issues. Big plus, you managed to save Sans’ brother. Wow.

Score one you, score infinity for fate or luck, or whatever. But at least you finally did something right. Right?

Well… okay, no, there were… still a lot of issues, haha. Only a couple problems had solved themselves, really.

You jumped when something started slamming over head on the ceiling- or, uh- floor, to them. “HEY, KEEP IT DOWN, DOWN THERE!”

The skeleton duo looked up at it and you took that opportunity to pop up to their side, hands up in an attempt at placating. “wow, uh, Papyrus, remember what I explained in the hall? About not getting us kicked out?”

Papyrus winced, “OH- o-oh, I'm sorry, human- i-”

“Nah, nah, sfine, just. Wow. Go back to. This. Just. Shhhhhh.” You motioned him back toward Sans with a wave of your hands and went to go put nice cream in the freezer before it melted from the warmth of their affection.

And go back to that he did. The two stayed attached all night. You don’t think the crying ever stopped and they never detached from each other. They were at least on the couch by the time you woke up the next morning, though. Sans was passed out on him, but, Papyrus was awake.

Still crying, too. Less full throttle, but still teary.

“Oh, human. Thank you, thank you very much.” He said quickly, standing.

You jumped, surprised, but the smaller skeleton did not fall off. He was sleep-clinging like a koala. Impressive, honestly. You relaxed.

“Don’t mention it. I'm, uh, really surprised, honestly. Figured Sans would have given me the most hell about buying a monster.” You looked down at him as you went to brush your teeth.

…you kind of regret that you might not be getting the world’s most deadly death glare. Where was the punishment for _literally_ buying someone?

Oh, right, it was in the fact that you were going to go broke and starve to death and live with the fact that you got two brothers back together only to have them torn apart again when you couldn’t afford to keep them.

Shit.

Couldn’t even afford to keep them, aint that right? Ahahah, cause, ya know, you own them.

Well, maybe you _could_ keep them?

…

No, no no, nononononono, you were _not_ considering making them work so you could get the cash. No, no no NO. No.

God how could you think that?

You hunched over the kitchen sink, bracing.

God. You owned _two_ lives. You just considered _using_ them. For a split second, but you _considered_ it. _using them. Controlling them. Forcing them._

Your stomach clenched and heaved.

Oh, god, oh, god.

“Human?”

You didn’t feel so good.

“Human, are you alright?”

The room is really spinning, man, fuck. But that didn’t matter, god, not right now you can’t deal with this. You have to get to work- if you weren’t fired for _not showing up_ yesterday. How were you going to afford _anything_?

“Mm-kid…? Uh, pap, put me down, bro.”

You had so much you needed to be doing. You had payments for the apartment to make, you had to buy- buy food, water, electric. Papyrus needs clothes. And a trip to the doctor. You could try not tipping Grillby, but- no, man, he needs that money, he has no other source with Apollo taking his tips all the time. God you can’t stand and you can’t breathe, how are you going to work? Assuming you _have_ any work to work now-

“Kid-”

Something touched your shoulder and you spun, smacking it off you. In the same breath, the movement and speed was enough momentum that the one hand on the counter slid and you collapsed right to the floor with a clatter and a sharp short scream.

God, _you_ can’t be screaming at five in the fucking morning, too. You’ll get evicted already, with _Papyrus_ and his volume. How much had you spent on Papyrus again? How much is it going to cost to feed Papyrus and Sans? More clothes? Doctor visits? Are you insane? Your stomach heaved, dry, and the room rocked like a cradle in a nursery rhyme.

“jeezes, bud, take a deep breath-”

something else touched you shoulder, again, and you squealed, swatting as hard as you could swing- it dodged, and left your person, “d-don’t- _don’t_ touch me!” you managed to snap even though you couldn’t- couldn’t breathe.

“Sans, what is wrong with-”

“Dunno pap.”

You heard Sans call your name a few times as you floundered to try and stand, but, thank god, he wasn’t _touching_ you. After a few seconds of that failing to work, you just stayed down on the ground.

You sat there longer yet, the longer it was the more your head burned and the harder it was to see. Your thinking was wild and riled and it was running in all directions, goaded by confusion, fear, and panic like a horse by a riding crop.

The pain started to gradually slow, though, after so long. You didn’t understand why, until you felt your breathing started to even out on a count- and you realized Sans was coaching you when you clued into him counting.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

Okay, this was… this was easy. You can do this. You may be a fuck up, but you can breathe to a count, especially with him using hand motions to show you what you should be doing.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

It was already hurting less. You didn’t feel like you would keel over and die. This is easy. Just breathing. Okay.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

1 2 3 4 5.

When he finally stopped counting, you were breathing slower and easier, but the room still spun and wiggled- like a heat mirage, the ones round Grillby or above his grill.

Sans was knelt in front of you, watching. Man he looked less fucking terrifying when he had pupils, you were glad for them, huhhh. Papyrus looked slightly horrified, crouched just behind him. watching you like a hawk.

“Alright, kid, you definitely need to go lay back down.” the shorter said, slowly.

You struggled up to your feet, and they both stood, too, tense and watching you close.

“work.” You said shortly, still breathless.

“That’s not a good-”

“No choice.” You shut him down quickly, leaning on the counter. “Need the money, Sans.”

He didn’t argue more than that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been asked a lot lately about if i have fan art- nope. trust be, if i did, i would share it with you! god that would be so AWESOME.
> 
> also been asked about tumblr: http://firemama.tumblr.com/  
> ehehe, ignore depressing bull shit you might find coming off my personal blog but, yup, contact me there with questions and such.
> 
> Lastly, i got asked if i have and visual ideas for my reader inserts. i have general ideas, actually... maybe ill draw'em, but, id much rather see your guys' ideas or hear how you imagine them. this applies to both "SlaveTale" and "Peace"


	17. Take a little walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> your party has gained a member

You went to work, of course, just like you said.

You asked Papyrus if he wanted to stay home today- he still looked tired as all hell, and you weren’t sure how well two monsters walking around with you would go- but, considering how he hadn’t stopped holding his brothers hand, you weren’t surprised he wanted to come with you.

You offered they could both stay home of course, but, Papyrus protested that, too. Not that you could figure out his reason, but, alright. Maybe he just wanted to be out in the world. You could understand that, you went stir crazy in your own home after only a day or two, and there’s no telling the kind of life Papyrus had had. Maybe locked up in a room for the last year, or something. It would definitely be reasonable to want to get the hell outta the house.

So you made sure to grab both of their files in your bag, and just like that you embarked, two skeletons at your heels as you hit the pavement.

You were barely out of the elevator before Papyrus got tired of you and Sans and your habit of perpetual silences.

“So, human! All that monster ketchup! That was for my brother, or do you like it as well?”

You chuckled, “I, uh, like ketchup. But, I can’t top bonesy’s love.”

“When did you buy monster ketchup?” Sans questioned, squinting. It was less about suspicion and more looked like he wanted to know where he could find this alluded ketchup for himself.

“Hah, oh, yesterday. Went shopping.”

“It was a long way to go shopping, Human, surely you ought to shop at one of these various stores in your _own_ city!”

“There, uh, isn’t a store in town with monster food.”

Silence for a few seconds. Sans is staring at you, you can _feel_ it. Papyrus Nyeheheh’s like he knows some sort of secret.

“ALSO, HUMAN!” you winced at the volume and he seemed to remember your request, even if you were outside. “I was of note that your shopping list was extensively compatibly with my brother’s interests! You two are remarkably similar to be buying those specific things!”

He skipped ahead up to your side, and you looked at him with a question on your tongue, and- oh, he has the list Grillby gave you. Did you drop that in the car? Did it fall out of your pocket at the house?

You jump to try and grab it from Papyrus’ hands- god why is he so _tall_ \- but, it turns blue and flies in a random direction just before you can grab it.

The direction is, however, not so random, you note, because the paper is yanked directly into Sans’ hand by an invisible force that is most likely magic.

You sigh long and tired as Sans easily unfolds the slip. After a few seconds, his pupils slide up to look at you over the list.

“…Interesting.”

“Oh, put a sock in it, Sans.” You huff, snatching the list back. He lets you take it, smirking over his dumb usual smile.

“That looks like Grillbz’ handwrittin’. You two been talkin’ about me, princess?”

“Obviously.” You point at the list. “You _are_ a mutual- uh- _acquaintance?_ \- of ours? Can you honestly say the two of you haven’t talked about _me_?”

He paused, “Hm. Touché.”

“YOU MEAN YOU FOUND GRILLBY? WHY AM I NOT SURPISED THAT OF ALL PEOPLE, YOU STILL KNOW WHERE GRILLBY IS!”

Papyrus does not notice your wince, but, you don’t bring it up. Clearly he’s more comfortable at this volume, and you really don’t care about the people giving you nasty looks for being such a loud bunch, especially considering hes a monster and in their eyes, you should ‘discipline’ him better.

You stumble, feeling sick again as that thought hits you, but you power through it.

They don’t notice- or, at least, Papyrus doesn’t notice and Sans doesn’t comment. You have a feeling there is very little that Sans doesn’t notice. He’s very… watchful and intuitive. You don’t have any evidence of that, but you don’t doubt it.

Papyrus continues, “WELL, HUMAN, I MUST SAY IT IS MIGHTY KIND OF YOU, ALMOST AS KIND AS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, THAT YOU TAKE SUCH GOOD CARE OF MY LAZY BROTHER! EVEN ASKING ME NOT TO WAKE HIM! AND TO BE NICE! AND TO GET SO MANY NICE THINGS THAT YOU BOTH CAN ENJOY! YOU ARE SUCH THE KIND HUMAN!”

You chuckle a little. “I guess, Papyrus. I guess. Call it, uh, civic duty. Make the world less like hell on earth, eh?” You look back at the paper. “Couldn’t find a place that sold all this stuff though… and couldn’t really afford most of it…” _although, apparently, you can afford a slave._

Wow, you feel gross and dirty and like shit.

And here’s this sweet little monster praising you, to boot.

You feel miserable.

Even more so, when arriving at work, Papyrus insists- with your approval that he may insist- on working with you. Sans takes a nap, Papyrus does double the work than you no matter how hard you try to do it all yourself, and with every minute, you feel worse and worse about it.

Your boss likes Papyrus’ work ethic and thanks you for bringing in a ‘useful’ monster for once, shooting a glare in Sans’ direction. Sans winked at him. He pays you extra, for the work of two people.

You feel like shit.

You try cutting out your half and giving Papyrus his, but he looks bewildered when you do, and makes a huge spectacle on a very loud voice how the boss-man payed _you_ and he cant _possibly_ take your money. All your coworkers are staring and frankly you feel bad enough to actually care, so rather than argue, you get the hell out of there.

You feel worse, especially as you walk to the next job, when he makes you keep it, saying he can’t spend money anyway.

Every job is like that up to lunch.

You stumble into Solars and wave at Grillby.

The man of fire is too busy staring, in shock, at Papyrus sitting next to Sans.

At least his shocked face is enough to make you less miserable. You probably won’t get to see such an outlandish look on Grillby ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AS REQUESTED i have drawn how i think my two Reader MCs look to me.  
> https://v-mum.deviantart.com/art/SlaveTale-Reader-717098230  
> anyway, what i said still stands! i still wanna see how YOU people imagine them!  
> SO SEND ME THOSE IF YOU EVER DRAW THEM PLS AHHH


	18. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> being a law abiding adult sucks

Sans and Papyrus follow you the rest of the day- the former taking naps while you and the taller of them work.

You end up screamed at and fired from 4 afternoon jobs for not showing up yesterday. As a temp worker you were never valuable in the first place and there are many more people ‘better’ than you to take your place. Or so is screamed at you.

It’s humiliating, being yelled at in front of both monsters, and every other worker here. Especially the way Papyrus tries to console you harder each time, and Sans is staring at you again in that way that you cant read.

You consider that argument, and, well, your ex-boss’ probably right. There are people who need the job even more than you do, that is certain. And they’d work harder and not ditch a day because they did something stupid like buy a second monster.

The last job of the day is the hardest, making 5 firings. You work the whole allotted time of 3 hours. Your boss had decided, then, to tell you you’d been fired. And you weren’t getting paid. He says a lot of back handed shit on how you shouldn’t have expected to still have a job there nd basically hands you how terrible you are on a plate.

You’re completely drained, utterly exhausted, and beyond humiliated when you walk back to the skeletons standing nearby. Too submitted to this to even argue with the man who’s leaving or even feel your old coworkers staring.

“Come on.”

They leave with you and- you miss the bus by maybe a damn _minute_. Probably because your boss had taken his sweet time calling you incompetent and letting you know you weren’t going to get paid.

You watch it drive down the road without you, leaned against the wall, and feel like you might cry.

The two monsters stand by awkwardly until you sigh, stand up, pull yourself together, and start your walk home.

“You guys mind if I just. Tune out?” you hold up a pair of head phones and your phone over your shoulder.

You get a grunt of not caring from Sans and a go ahead from Papyrus that is frankly just too loud, so, you slip them on and put on your most depressing Spotify playlist packed with Holly Henry and Twenty One Pilots and other little songs pulled off the radio you’d heard and liked and found good when you felt like shit.

You weren’t really paying attention to anything, watching the lines of concrete squares passing and counting how many steps you took in each one, lost in relatable suck-tastic lyrics when a hand grabbed your shoulder and you almost seized in fright, barely managing not to whip around and sock Papyrus in the- uh, well, probably the chest, considering that’s about your eye-level. No less you yanked yourself out of his grip almost immediately and looked around when you noticed he was looking in another direction.

When you pulled your headphones out, you were immediately met with screaming. Both angry, and pained.

You found what both skeletons were watching. You’d stumbled into the growing crowd around yet another scene. Much like the one where you’d met Sans. She cried and you watched and she was smacked with- with something- you don’t really know you aren’t paying attention.

You just feel your heart falling and you take several steps forward but stop when he stops hitting the smaller monster. She wails and drags her back into the building.

Your fists squeeze and shake but you know there’s nothing you can do- nothing- and that’s the absolute worst feeling.

Papyrus goes to chase, you think, you grab his shirt, “Stop.” He does, but only with a blink of his collar’s light.

“BUT- HUMAN? HUMAN, WE MUST HELP-”

“We can’t.” you pull again on the back of his shirt. “We have to go home now.”

You can’t do anything. You had a shot because the man attacking Sans had hit you in the process… but… not this time. There was nothing to be done.

“BUT- H-HUMAN-”

“ _There’s nothing I can do,_ and nothing _you_ can do, Papyrus.” You snap, cutting him short. You turn around, putting your head phones on and avoid looking at Sans as you move back to start walking home like everyone else in the crowd. “This is reality, Papyrus.” You mutter, putting in the other ear bud and paying attention only to the continued music and passing pavement walk home, hands stuffed in your pockets.

You don’t sleep that night and your heart never rises from where it sank, and the second you sit on your bed you know you won’t be able to stand again for a while from how absolutely disgusting you feel.

Not only had you been unable to help.

You’d given one of your own slaves your first collar-needed command today.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO GOT THEIR FIRST FAN ART EVVVEEERRR  
> http://firemama.tumblr.com/post/147116793494/slavetale-was-the-only-fic-ive-ever-read-from-you
> 
> BRRUUUHHHH SO GOOD


	19. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader could probably teach a cooking class.

Papyrus and Sans, you would find, were like night and day. Opposites in so many little ways.

Sans was frightening, but Papyrus was completely disarming, for starters; you could tell that within 5 minutes of their presence.

But as days wore in as the hours passed, it became extensively clear that these brothers were polar opposites.

Papyrus was loud and excited, Sans still barely talked and preferred naps. Sans hated you, Papyrus seemed to instantly be your friend. Sans clearly sparked with an intelligence you were pretty sure was ridiculously up there above you, and Papyrus, well, that is to say, he was not. Even their colors kind of set them apart- Sans was blue, and Papyrus was red and orange. They were hot and cold, two totally radical opposites.

Sans wasn’t the messiest person you’d ever met- he wasn’t all that bad, really. He just didn’t clean. And that was, honestly, just fine by you- after all, little of the mess belongs to him or was made by him. ha managed to lose a sock here and there around the apartment, and you did his laundry, and washed his dishes, but otherwise, he didn’t leave much evidence anywhere that he was there.

Papyrus was perhaps the cleanest person you’d ever known. You went to bed, and then just woke up to everything positively sparkling. Did neither skeleton _sleep?_

Unfortunately he’d disorganized your organized chaos of paperwork around the house into one massive stack- that was damn right horrible- but you powered around that out of total gratitude to Papyrus.

You were struggling to find something to do nice in return, when you stumbled upon letting him cook with you that night when you started making another lasagna. You made the dish a lot, since it was big and cheap. It mildly reminded you of your first day meeting Sans and how… awed he had been by your fridge full of food just being there and available to him.

Your heart panged and you had to take a minute not to fall over, thankfully hiding that under the guise of washing your hands as Papyrus excitedly bustled about the kitchen.

Another difference between the brothers: Sans was very personal with his personal bubble, and the two of you had only came in direct contact, maybe 5 times in the last 5 or 6 months. Papyrus seemed to like to share his personal bubble with the whole world.

Once again you found yourself tense under his hand on your shoulder, the urge to scream or at least yelp beaten back into the ground as you spun, turning to face him and dislodging his hand at the same time.

Excited and impatient, Papyrus bounced in front of you, ready to get started and you chuckled. You wondered if this would be the only and last time you cooked with Papyrus before you got evicted and didn’t have a kitchen anymore. You hoped not.

You… aren’t sure how he did it, but Papyrus managed to burn the noodles while boiling them. And by that, you mean he charred them to a black crisp on all sides. You didn’t like throwing food away, but… no.

“But, human, I do not understand!” he was mindful to keep his voice down in your apartment, thankfully. “I, the great Papyrus, am the pasta expert! Those noodles were amazing, I assure you!”

You wondered if this was some sort of monster way of cooking noodles you don’t know about.

“Uh, look, pap. Noodles shouldn’t be blackened and charred for lasagna.”

“But the heat, it’s the mark of your passion for cooking! To more cooked- so of course, the more burned, the better! My teacher Undyne taught me so specifically!”

Passion, eh? You wondered if you had any of that these days.

“Passion is only a part of cooking.” You tried to explain carefully. “The greatest dishes in finest food, man, those take a while, pap. Let’s try Patience, alright? You know how to make a hot pot stew? You put it on _low_ and cook for _hours._ Cooking isn’t just passion.”

Papyrus seemed unhappy about this, but, asked for you to show him this second style of cooking.

So he crowded very close, which you were highly aware of, and watched as you put what you had left of noodles onto the boil. He was particularly unhappy when you pulled out premade sauce.

“THE BEST SAUCE IS HAND MADE, HUMAN!”

“Not all of us have the time or money to make food from scratch, pap.” Honestly you felt a little bad, now, since you couldn’t even afford basic ingredients. You aren’t sure if Papyrus picked up on that, because he was much quicker to lay off that time. Another difference from Sans, who didn’t seem to have any problems with making you feel like shit.

Said second skeleton was currently watched you and Papyrus from a seat at the bar counter, curious. He didn’t seem keen on getting involved, and you were pretty sure he knew how to cook on his own (you’d seen him make a box of macaroni and cheese, and considering he’d cooked the noodles right, you got the feeling that Papyrus burning the noodles was not quite a monster thing now that you thought about it and more a him and this ‘Undyne’ person thing), so you wonder what he was so curious about.

Either way, Papyrus was happy and eager to help you layer noodles and spread the (less than perfect) store bought sauce and a couple layers of cheese here and there. He wanted to be the one to put it in the oven, so you set the temperature while he did- and you were glad, too, because he was shocked at how low you put it. He recommended at least 500 degrees. You reminded him that you were using patience to cook and left it at that.

You’d passed the times re-sorting that stack of paperwork when a glance at the clock told you it was time to retrieve the dinner. You hadn’t been sure where the brothers had gone off to, but they were both there almost immediately as you were putting the meal on the counter out of the stove.

You weren’t surprised- god this thing smelt great the second you opened the stove.

It hit you just how hungry Papyrus might be when, after a couple minutes of letting it cool, he ate the piece you cut him in under a minute. Even Sans was looking at him in slight surprise and you gathered Papyrus wasn’t normally that ravenous or fast with food before.

You suddenly regret ‘Patience’ cooking. You should have made something faster.

You cut Papyrus another larger piece quite quickly, still wondering where food went with skeletons as he ate it. Sans gave Papyrus his plate and Papyrus ate that, too. Sans looked both concerned and slightly amazed at Papyrus’ speed. You were, too, but more so amazed about his ability to put that much food away when he didn’t have anywhere to… put it, with no stomach.

“Still hungry pap?” you asked, uncertain, from the kitchen. You weren’t sure if it was healthy to eat this much in one sitting. Then again, that was humans. Skeletons didn’t really have the stomachs for an upset stomach. Badum tss.

Papyrus shook his head, grinning. “I have not been this full in years, human! Thank you!”

His thank you was hella sincere.

You were kind of heart broken.

“And your patience lasagna was ALMOST as good as the Amazing Papyrus’ Passion spaghetti!”

You couldn’t help a small laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> faaannnnarrtttt  
> im sooooo happpyy
> 
> http://firemama.tumblr.com/post/147206477659/the-art-program-messed-up-so-this-is-the-best-way


	20. head under water but still breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nothing is better than crippling depression, am i right ladies~?

It was so, so funny when, one morning, the skeleton brothers found you.

crying.

It was really, really fucking funny. So fucking _funny_.

Awkward, too.

But you found it mostly funny, as most depressing things turned out to be.

The funnies part was, for all Papyrus asking what was wrong, you had _no fucking clue_.

This just happened some times.

It had been a normal morning.

It was you that had woken up wrong and you knew it the moment you woke. That it was going to be that kind of day.

Like you weren’t having enough issues right now with Sans being. Difficult. And with Papyrus with you now, too. And with the mind fuckery it was that there were just no “right” answers to anything these days. And with losing most of your jobs and holding the others by a thread. Like it wasn’t all bad and hard _enough._ Now you were back to having these kind of days.

You sat up in bed but as hard as you pushed, actually getting up from it entirely was harder. And when you managed- already running 30 minutes late now- to stand, you had to fight to move.

You normally ignored how much your body hated you. The pain and ache in your muscles, the constant headache, hunger from not eating enough and dizziness from not eating right. Angry at you and weak for improper sleep. With added lingering sick feelings that hadn’t left since you _bought_ Papyrus.

Now it was like all of that demanded every cell of your body and every thread of your conscious, “PAY ATTENTION TO ME PAY ATTENTION TO ME LOOK HOW MUCH WE HURT PAY ATTENTION” and, well, it was hard not to hear it all yelling at you.

When you pushed to start moving, now another 15 minutes running behind on top of the last, you moved slow. Slow, like a toy with dying batteries. And anything other than pain was kind of like a fog, blurred outside a line of perception.

You fumbled through the pile of un-hung, un-folded clothes at the bottom of your closet, biting at yourself that you should have hung these up by now. You gave up after 15 minutes, and stood up- almost falling backward in the process. You made it to the bathroom door but instead of opening it, and taking a shower, you just leaned on it.

You turned, giving up on that too, and tried to make your way down the hall. You couldn’t run, and you couldn’t jump the pile of stuff in the way that had somehow grown back in place after Papyrus had cleaned, and you couldn’t slide with your socks and momentum over the floor. You just stood in the hall where it opened to the rest of the apartment, lost and struggling to do- well, anything. Even breathe.

“Uh, mornin’, zombie.”

You could see Sans, uncertain; he was used to your morning energy. And your punctual activities. It was almost an hour late to leave, now. He was uncertain what was happening.

You looked at him, and just kind of moved into the kitchen, and then, stood in there.

Sans was creeped out but you weren’t really paying attention to him anymore. He just sat on the couch and decided to take a nap until you were making more sense. You didn’t know where Papyrus was and you hadn’t even considered even considering him. Maybe he was there, and you just didn’t. register that. You don’t know.

You tried to brush your teeth, but, the toothbrush was heavy. You tried to make toast but you didn’t want to.

You gave up and slowly slid down the counter cabinets and onto the floor.

This wasn’t _fair_. What the hell, nothing- nothing even happened. You just woke up, that was it, this isn’t fair, _nothing even happened!_

You had so much to do you had to do so many things. You had work to do, you had a doctor’s appointment scheduled today too, for Papyrus. You had Papyrus- and Sans- you had two people to take care of now. You couldn’t afford to just sit around the house and- and feel like _this._

This body was so weak and useless, it couldn’t handle the day. Your mind was even worse, it did- _this_ for no reason.

You shook. You just wanted to stand up. You wanted to go to work, you wanted to make money, you wanted to go eat at Solars, you wantedto go to work again, you wanted to make more money, and then you wanted to sleep. And do it again the next day. Why was that too much to ask? You just wanted- wanted a normal day, so you can try and get out of this whole you were digging yourself into.

But you can’t because you can’t stand and you’ve already long missed the bus and there’s no way your first job was going to keep you were supposed to be on your way to take Papyrus to the physical in 16 minutes but you couldn’t even move.

And then you were just sitting there. Useless.

And then you were just sitting there. Shaking.

And then you were just sitting there. Crying.

And then you were just sitting there. Sobbing.

Silent at first and then sniffling. Sans sat up some time around then from his nap, staring at you over the couch, and while you felt embarrassed and humiliated at the thought, you couldn’t even comprehend him right now.

Sniffling turned into sobbing and you just. Didn’t even know why you were _crying_ you were _fine_ why was this _happening_?

You don’t know when Papyrus got there, but all of the sudden you were trying to avoid his flustered concern and had no answers for his questions, as rapid as they came.

At some point, somebody’s skeleton hand was held up and offered to you but you refused to touch that, and instead it retracted and you don’t know who, but, someone asked if you could stand.

You were walking back to your room with them for a while- for a long time you couldnt get your legs and feet to work together or do what you wanted, and when you finally managed, still it was slow and hard.

And then you were laying down and there was a blanket thrown over you, and that was it.

Nothing else happened that day.

You just went back to sleep.

Boy hadn’t it just been absolutely fucking _hilarious_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's read my one shot "Family", that bitch is even more depressing if you read it as a prologue to this story lmao. "alright i guess i can give life one more chance- HAHA NOW MY FRIENDS ARE SLAVES WOW THANKS LIFE." 
> 
> lmao


	21. Point of View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exposure, Disgust, Confusion, and Repeat, Repeat, Repeat.

In any situation, Point Of View is in fact the single most important factor.

Point of view decided the good guys and the bad guys. Point of view decided what sides of information are known. Point of views, when different, can lead to misunderstandings, arguments, risky options that could all be bad anyway, and in drastic cases, start a war.

Point of view makes the story.

Point of view makes the problems.

Point of view makes the solutions.

Point of view makes the finish.

Point of view makes the future further on afterward.

No matter which side, however, only having one point of view will always leave a lot unsaid.

As single-viewed people who only knew what they saw and were told and experienced, monsters and humans had this fault in common.

Without a second point of view, shit happens. And it’s hard to know what the problem is, let alone a solution, or how things will end and affect life in general, if you don’t know the other side of the story.

From one point of view, your own, it was very hard to figure any of this shit out.

Which is funny, because it’s your own story, so shouldn’t you know it?

The fact is, it’s your life. And, laying in this bed, having woken up with a face burning from sleep-crying, you don’t understand anything, even your own point of view on it all.

Your door cracks open and you panic, ducking under the blankets and covering your head, your quiet contemplation destroyed.

You sit unbearably still, heart thudding in your chest so loud it surely can be heard throughout the dark.

The sound of heavy footsteps start the walk from the door, steadily closer. You sit as still as you can, lying under the blankets, eyes squeezed so tight that the sound of your skin stretching as you squeeze them so tight fills your ears under the sound of the footsteps. If you don’t move, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe he’ll go away and your skin will stop crawling in combinations of fear and disgust and a sickening feeling you don’t know the word for.

The footsteps stop and in some twisted way you think that means you’re safe when you don’t hear them again. Until the blanket is yanked away the darkness under them is now filled with a weak light of exposure and words you don’t want to hear and things you don’t want to feel.

With a shriek you sit up, and suddenly, the darkness is different. Still your bedroom, still your bed, still the darkness, still lying down, but the door is closed.

You hear the footsteps in the hall again. You hide under the blanket. The door opens and they walk closer.

The blanket is thrown and the feeling of exposure and painful emotions you don’t want to feel repeats.

And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

And then, when you jump upright the next time, you’re screaming and you can’t stop and you aren’t sure if you’re crying or sweating or both.

The door flies open and two sets of footsteps are coming closer, but they aren’t as heavy, and they aren’t slow, they’re fast and light and there’s a soft clacking sound to them as they hurry over hard wood floor until they’re both in the room, in the darkness.

The darkness isn’t the same, the room is still yours, your still on your bed. But it’s a different bed and a different room and a different darkness, and nothing repeats again.

This time its real and you’re wide awake.

From your point of view, you don’t understand anything at all.

From their point of view, they don’t understand anything at all.

This one, surely, is just a mess and tonight there is no solution.

Only nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooohhh another fanarttt:  
> http://prntscr.com/brdoee  
> hahaha i wonder where everyone got the blue stripe idea from its p rad!
> 
> by request ill post the link to my own designs again: https://v-mum.deviantart.com/art/SlaveTale-Reader-717098230  
> 


	22. Regression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Physical wounds are so much simpler and easy to deal with.

You walk the apartment like an inmate on death row that morning.

The last 24 hours had been. Too eventful.

Frankly, you aren’t use to that much emotional bullshit in such a short time span. And somehow, even though you were only awake maybe 3 hours, they were all full of emotional BS that just left you more tired than the 21-hour sleep should have allowed.

You were now kind of wandering your own home like a damaged ghost, picking up paperwork you needed to do only to put it back down, starting to clean but slowing into a stop, and just trying to. Keep breathing, honestly.

The last 24 hours have apparently done pretty hard on your guests, too.

Papyrus has sort of taken over Sans’ game of follow the leader and has just been following you around the house all morning. He’s fretting and you can see that. He’s kind of scaring you, honestly. You don’t get why.

Sans is starring at you. He’s as impossible to read as ever where he’s sitting at the kitchen bar, but, it’s a different stare than you’re used to from him. Less hateful, more. More _something_. He’s scaring you, too. You don’t know _why_.

Some frightened part of you wishes they weren’t here and that you’d never gotten into this mess.

Then you feel terrible because that means they wouldn’t be anywhere good and you go back to… whatever you’re doing. Mostly just running on autopilot. Not doing anything efficient, at least.

You know you’re going to get fired from everything today. You called in say you would be at work today for the doctor’s appointment yesterday, and now you ditched work again today. You know you’re going to lose the apartment.

Now, you’re just… waiting. For the inevitable.

You finally stop completely and just stand there. Papyrus stops behind you. They both stare at you.

You turn and go to your room, finding one of your suitcases. You start to pack your clothes.

“Human?” Papyrus is at you’re doorway. Sans is beside him. “A-are you, uh, going somewhere?”

“…” you stop and look at you're clothing. Then your suit case. Then at Papyrus.

You look like you haven’t slept for years. You look defeated.

You look at Sans and Papyrus. The tallest of them looks terrified. You still cant read Sans. But his hand is gripping the door frame tight, so much so you think he might leave claw marks.

Was it worth it?

The sought suddenly strikes your mind as you look at them.

Was it worth it?

Had _they_ been worth it?

Had _any_ of this been worth it?

Had trying this hard been worth it at _all_?

Did either of them even want to _be_ here?

Were you doing them _any_ good or had you just made everything _harder_?

Had working this hard for all these years been worth… worth _this_?

Had all the things youd done in life been worth it?

Was any of this worth it?

Did it even _matter_?

You don’t know what you looked like to them right then. But Papyrus- he looked terrified, more and more so the longer he looked at you. Sans’ unnecessary breathing stopped and his empty eye sockets were back and you could see the groves in the door frame he was digging already.

You swallowed and smiled shakily. But that made them both worse. Papyrus looked like he wouldn’t be able to stand much longer and, Sans, he didn’t change but you could feel his intensity shifting and growing.

You looked back at the suit case. You dumped it out and stuck it back under the bed, refusing to start trembling.

You stood up and walked past them for the bathroom, still smiling. You locked it behind you, tight, and went to the sink.

Opening your medicine cabinet and rolling up your sleeve, you resorted to something you never thought you’d do again.

The sink filled with blood, for just this one… more… one more time…

You didn’t come out again until you stopped hurting in your head, in your heart, until all that hurt had transferred to your physical skin instead.

You left the razor in the trash.


	23. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What a struggle

It was a struggle to get moving now. “Just that one time” turned out to actually mean “just every morning.” Just. Just to get you going. Only as much as you needed.

You managed to keep three of your jobs. Mulch, headphones, and another where you boxed textbooks for shipping. You managed to also score one more job, mowing a front lawn at this high school, but, that was only every other weekend.

You resorted to sending out your resume again to just about any corporation or business in the area. And… you had to go back to an old job that had always been there for you.

You managed to leave the house two nights in a row without either brother seeming to notice; that was, until Sans made a snide comment at Solars about it.

You still didn’t explain, much to his irritation and Papyrus’ concern and a worried look from Grillby. You shot him a pointed glare. Grillby nodded and didn’t say anything, but, now Sans knew that Grillby knew what was up at night. Or at least knew _something_  about it.

No less, coming home after work every day only to keep the two skeleton brothers fed, and then leaving again for most of the night, was really catching up on you. certainly what was not helping you was your resound difficulties in keeping from just. _Stopping_.

After all. You had to take care of Sans and Papyrus now.

You couldn’t afford to stop right now.

You were working very hard. Very, very, very hard. Papyrus liked to help during the day. You wished he wouldn’t. After all, the harder he worked and the more work he did, the more you got payed. It made you sick.

Sans probably hated you more than ever right now. You could understand that. He had his brother to worry about, and you were basically stealing from Papyrus by getting the money he earned. And your secret affairs at night, well, that would make anyone distrust you. Not to mention you’d basically proven just how much of a freak you are. Twice. God why couldn’t you just… just _not_  ugh…

You were watching them tonight, before you left for work. Rather than taking the other room, Papyrus had essentially moved in with Sans, and he had gone to bed already. Sans had read him to sleep using your laptop to find a good story. You’d offered the idea when Papyrus had been upset that all the books in your house were boring or text books.

You couldn’t help a small protective flair in your chest as you watched them. That hadn’t been there back when you had first been ‘given’ Sans, who now napped comfortably on top of Papyrus in their shared bed. You weren’t sure when that feeling had come about from your mild “just doing what’s right” feeling, and when it had also included Papyrus, but the longer you looked at them, the more it was like feeding that spark kindling, fanning those warm flames.

You could recognize that you felt affection for them. It was kind of strange, honestly. You’d never felt companionship for anything outside of your siblings or parents-- parent.

It wasn’t like you’d looked for companionship, friendship, and were just rejected. You more or less… floated. You were a person in this city and that’s all you’d ever been. Aside from someone’s daughter, and someone’s sister. You just never looked for friends. What jobs you had didn’t last long, so you’d not befriended co-workers. Your apartment neighbors were all the reclusive sort or just kinds of people you’d never liked and chose not to associate with, or people you’d just… never really _met_.

You’d not had friends since school. You hadn’t really kept in touch with anyone. Too much had been happening in your life when you were younger, in high school.

You’d never thought of your lack of friends as anything before, really. You’d never cared. Honestly you barely even cared for family. A small part of you remembered how much you want to be Grillby’s friend, before. You still did. You still didn’t know if you were.

You looked at Sans and Papyrus. You felt that same thought rising in you.

You had bizarre affection that wasn’t normal in your life, your life of “that one person in this city”. You weren’t special, you were simple. And that simple little thing in you was on fire. On fire with desire to be their friend. To want to protect them. To care about them more than you would just anyone on the street.

Leaning in the doorway, watching them nap, you sighed. You had to take care of Sans and Papyrus now.

  
That’s why you were working so hard, now.

  
That’s why you were going back to this job, you told yourself, and you meant it. If it meant keeping them safe and comfortable.

  
You closed their door gently and left for ‘work’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to update from my phone? Sorry if today's two chapters are wonky hehehe I'll fixed when my computer is repaired


	24. Bitter Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so he knows she's there ya know?

You… can’t believe it.

It’s just sitting here. Just…

Whoa.

Sans’ jacket.

Small skeleton nowhere to be seen.

 _Only_ his jacket.

Sitting in the wide open, right there in front of you on the couch.

You know Papyrus is in their room, with an old childrens’ puzzle book you’d gotten in the mail a long time ago that he happened to have found. He loves puzzles apparently.  
But you have no- seriously, no idea, where Sans can be and why he doesn’t have this with him.

It’s tattered and old and you seriously don’t think he’s not worn it long enough to even wash it more than twice. The only times he’s taken it off is when he showers, and its normally in there with him until he comes out after a god forsaken hour and a half of water.

Wait.

Hour and a half.

You have the jacket.

 _Ping_.

You FINALLY get to do what you planned so long ago!

God Sans scares you so fucking much you haven’t managed to ask him, but! You have his jacket!

You slowly pick it up, half expecting him to jump out at you as soon as you touch it.

……………he doesn’t.

Wheew.

Holding it clasped in your arms, you quickly dart to the hall way. You can hear the shower running. You’re right, he’s in there. You have a while.

Last second, just before you run into your room, you remember Papyrus boasting about something. How he had made his own clothes, back in the underground. You switch course and leap into the skeleton brother’s bed room, startling Papyrus, who’s sitting on the mattress doing the kids’ puzzles.

He’s about to say something, but sees what you have and abruptly changes what he’s going to say, but you beat him to speaking.

“PAP, okay, so, you know how to sew, right?”

He nods, continuing with what he was going to say, “human, why do you- OH!” he’s almost immediately on the same page as you.

“shhhhhhhhhhhh.” You direct him to come with you, and Papyrus abandons his book and the crayons you’d found for him, and the two of you hurry into your room, giggling. You lock the door and jump onto your bed, and Papyrus leaps up after you.

“I hope you have the materials?”

“Bought ‘em at the mall!” you giggle excitedly, opening your night stand drawer and produce the blue thread and small sewing kit you’d bought from the mall back on your shopping-to-make-Sans-happy adventure.

You’d spent a lot of time trying to pick the right blue color of thread, and it’s just a little darker, but it looks pretty good and close by comparison.

Papyrus nyehehehehehehhe-s excitedly, and his goofy laugh always gets you, so you start giggling too. He shows you how to thread your needle (the kit came with three), and shows you how to start on the patches that are torn in.

You copy him carefully, step by step, stitch by stitch, both of you going as small as you possibly can make them so the fixes are as hard to notice as possible. Papyrus even goes around, reinforcing the seems that have loosened with age, while you work on a torn sleeve.

“So, pap, whats the deal with Sans and his jacket?”

“I imagine, human, that he likes it for many reasons! He liked it before, because it was the first thing he’d scavenged from the dump when we were baby bones. In a place like Snowdin, warm clothing is always nice, even if the cold can’t quite HURT a skeleton! Now, I'm quite sure he likes it, as it is the only thing he’s managed to hold on to from our old life now that we are on the surface.”

“Huh. Snowdin, huh?” Papyrus has mentioned it in passing, but honestly every time Papyrus talks there’s something new you don’t know about. So you’ve not had the chance to ask about this specific new thing yet.

“AH! Snowdin was Sans and I’s home town in the underground! My brother and I had quite the time there! He was always at grillby’s or sleeping at his post like a lazy bones, and I was Snowdins’ NUMBER ONE royal Guard in Training! Surely my brother has told you of Snowdin?”

You chuckled. Sans? Tell you something? What a thought.

Well, wait, actually… “He mentioned it, only once. Pretty briefly. He told me a bunny woman monster I know was from Snowdin. She was an Inn Keeper.”

“Oh! Yes, the bunbun people! There were many of them! Some of them were very strange, they walked each other on leashes!”

You chuckled goofily. “Kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“uh. Heheh. Just a phrase. It means… uh, weird.”

“Wowie!”

“Papyrus!” Oh, that was Sans. You heard him knocking on your bedroom door. “Pap, are you two in there?”

Oh, crud, you weren’t done, so close!

You and Papyrus simultaneously looked down at the jacket, then at the door, and then back at each other. Oh, shoot.

You scrambled to get off the bed and grabbed the jacket, running to the closet to hide it, blue string trailing. You were just going to hide it, until Papyrus was at the door and you ‘eeped’ before jumping in the closet and closing it, too.

You heard your door unlock and open.

“HELLO SANS! YOU LOOK QUITE WET, DID YOU ENJOY ANOTHER OF YOUR ABNORMALLY LONG SHOWERS?!”

Sheesh, even Papyrus had noticed that.

“Uh, yeah, pappy. Where’s the kid?”

“I DON’T KNOW! IF SHE WERE IN HERE, YOU WOULD SEE HER, WOULD YOU NOT?? SO SHE IS NOT HERE! PERHAPS SHE IS OFF SNEAKING AROUND AND LYING ABOUT IT AGAIN?”

Ouch. Jeeze, pap was really good at being backhanded and passive aggressive commentary.

“…riiight. Uh, why don’t you get out of ‘er room, then? Ya know she keeps this locked whenever she’s in or out of it… so, uh, _however you got in there_ and all…”

Oh. Right.

Well he totally knows you’re in here somewhere.

“WELL YOU SEE THE HUMAN, SANS, THE HUMAN- UHM- WAS LOOKING FOR- FOR SOMETHING, AND ASKED ME TO HELP CLEAN HER ROOM! BECAUSE THE MASTER PAPYRUS IS AN EXPERT AT CLEANING, AMOUNG OTHER THINGS!”

God, not to be mean, but pap was even louder when he was lying.

“… stars, pap. Come on, I don’t want you two alone.”

Well fuck.

That was just. Hurtful.

What the hell did he think you could ever do to _Papyrus_ of all people?

“SANS! WHY WOULD YOU SAY SUCH A THING? THIS IS CERTAINLY THE SECOND NICEST HUMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN!”

At least pap was nice…

“Papyrus. You can’t trust- look, bro, it’s bad news. Stay away from her.”

“SANS I ASSURE YOU, YOU REALLY ARENT-”

“Papyrus. No. She’s one of _them_. She hasn’t done us any good.”

Okay. Okay, yeah. You were done.

Done hiding in the closet. Done listening to that. Done pretending you didn’t care about them. Done pretending like Sans doesn’t hurt you. Done.

You pushed open the closet door, breaking the string of blue from the unfinished sewing job and the loose needle. Papyrus backed out of the door and you threw Sans his stupid jacket.

“HUMAN, WAIT-”

The door slammed and locked. With a shove, you pushed the sewing shit to the other side of the bed and pretended you were alone in your own home instead. You were done for the night, that’s it.

You knew you were a shitty person and you knew you’d fucked up everything so far, but you knew you’d done him good and you- you weren’t just going to take that from him. You’d done some good! Something! You’d done _some_ good! You didn’t need HIM telling you otherwise. You had yourself for that.

You didn’t want to think about it.

You just let yourself pretend the house was silent and empty.


	25. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Bigmouth will see you now.

Even after he’d had the brief melt down and twisted your wrist, you’ve never avoided Sans, or ever generally tried not to be in his company.

Well, now, you were.

You didn’t make a big show of it, though you weren’t trying to hide it.

You asked Papyrus tell Sans that the two of them can stay home today- and you said it every morning. Papyrus didn’t really want to, but, even he could get the hint you wanted to be alone. You don’t know how Sans reacted to that the first time, or next several times that followed. You don’t care.

You always stopped by at lunch time to drop off a burger and a salad from Solars for Sans and Papyrus, respectively. Papyrus was there at the door to accept it, and then you turned and went back to work, steadily finding a few more temp jobs as you went and loosing others, just like normal.

Grillby seemed very concerned that the skeleton brothers weren’t coming with you anymore. But you refused to talk about it and just gave him the money and his (slightly less than normal) tip before leaving with the to-go bag.

At night, it was easier now to avoid him, since you weren’t there much after the sun set, and by the time you came back, it was very late. Papyrus was always asleep by then, and no matter where Sans was, what he was doing, you didn’t acknowledge his presence. You just went straight to bed, and then the cycle repeated.

Even then, you couldn’t avoid him completely forever. Finally, Papyrus’ rescheduled doctor’s appointment arrived.

Sans made sure to seek you out, personally, that morning. He was ready to challenge you over it, that he was going to go no matter what- but he didn’t get a few words in before you shut him up with “of course you are.”

You still remembered how violated Sans had looked at the end. You wouldn’t deprive Papyrus the comfort of his brother’s presence. You told Sans just that.

He was silent and you went on to finish arranging Papyrus’ binder with Sans’ in your bag and then you all left.

Here you were. Papyrus was strangely excited, Sans was silently leaning on the wall on his left, and you did the same on his right as Papyrus bounced slightly. Apparently he’d not been to a doctor’s appointment since the underground.

Thankfully there were no encounters with your mother this time, and the waiting room was less packed, so it was faster.

The nurse tried to get you to have Sans stay outside in the waiting room. But apparently the look you gave her was no short of a death threat and she let Sans come along.

“How long have you had your monster?”

“3 months.”

“About how much of that time has your monster spent in your direct presence?”

“Until as of recently, most of it.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being resistant, 10 being docile, how obedient without the aid of the collar is your monster?”

 “Prefer not to answer.”

“Has your monster exhibited signs of aggression, and if so, please rate this; 1 being minutely, 10 being considered serious.”

“None.”

“Has your monster shown signs of sexual activity or sexual interest, either with a, other monsters, b, humans, c, yourself, d, animals, or any combination thereof?”

You looked at Papyrus. Papyrus shook his head no, completely unembarrassed. Sans glared at the papers in the nurse’s hand from the seat next to you. You said, “no.”

“Is your monster of maturity age?”

Sans tipped his hand back and forth. The nurse noticed and circled an answer without your verbal translation of “not sure”

“Are you aware monsters of mature age and certain species are subject to ‘Heats’ and sexually aggressive outbursts?”

“Yup.”

“Do you have plans or desires in the future to consummate your monster?”

God the mere thought almost made you do the combination of throw up and laugh. Because. Its _Papyrus_. “ _No._ ” Papyrus asked what consummate means. Sans shushed him.

“Does your monster perform tasks that include sexual activity?”

“Nope.”

“Please describe the nature of your monster’s purpose.”

You squinted. “Body guard.” Papyrus lit up. Apparently, he liked the idea.

And so on with the questions.

Eventually the nurse left. Papyrus asked if he really was your body guard. “No, but I'm sure you’d be a great one, paps.” Papyrus beamed. You chuckled.

The doctor comes later.

He takes the bone and magic samples, and you give Papyrus a big grin and thumbs up after he holds his brave face, even while his eyes tear up. Honestly, he’s adorable, like a little kid. You do it again after he does a magic demonstration similar to Sans’ but with a few more impressive facets as he tried to be impressive. He’s swimming with pride when he sees them, and Sans chuckles, “You’re so cool, bro.” and Papyrus is even happier.

Apparently, that’s when the doctor gets a good look at Sans for the first time, and recognition blooms in his eyes. “AH!” the doctor turned to you, laughing. “Oh! I'm so glad you took my advice and that second monster! Tell me, any ideas what you plan to do with your old one, now?”

You feel your knuckles pop as they fist. Sans glances to you, confused, and so does Papyrus. “Excuse me?” your voice is grating on a very deep anger, and you know both the skeleton brothers catch it because they’re watching you a little closer now.

The doctor is either ignoring it or oblivious, “Oh, it’s just, he was such an interesting specimen. Skeletons are rare enough as it is, to be honest. With his HP condition, a few colleges of mine down by the university were asking me to look into a price for him. They’d love to study him.”

He’s turning back to Papyrus, and you know from Sans just what part comes next, so despite a broiling rage creeping through your veins, you take a deep breath and close your eyes as the Doctor tells Papyrus to pull out his soul.

“Sans is not for _sale_ , Doctor. If you _recall_ , I told you _pointedly_ that he wasn’t going _anywhere_.”

The older man laughed. “Yes, yes, I know, you kids these days. ‘Euthanasia is bad, I refuse to part with my first monster its special,’ all of that. I'm not talking about selling him to die to save the loss, I'm telling you can really win big here-”

“Stop. Talking.” Your patience is wearing dangerously _thin_. “I told you. I will take care of Sans. I am not selling him. He is not dying. _Stop. Talking._ ”

You’re pretty sure a little too much of your raw malice and disgust slipped into your tone that time, because the doctor drops the subject. You thank whatever higher power.

The soul examine ends quickly just like last time, and you see from the way Papyrus is holding his chest just as tight as Sans did before that it was just as invasive, whatever happened. This time, you aren’t sure what has done the most issue, however. Because Papyrus is looking between you and Sans with a mild horror.

This has changed nothing, and you are still avoiding Sans. You don’t look at him, pointedly, and take Papyrus’ binder files from the doctor with a hot glare before you leave, and don’t mention the topic again. Neither brother brings it up as you leave, either.


	26. Right but still so very Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you make the best choice but uh lmao sometimes they're still fucked up and wrong

You are well aware that everyone is horrified and shocked. Everyone includes even Grillby. You can tell by the way he keeps staring at you.

You wonder if Sans told him, or maybe it was Papyrus. Possibly both. Neither have anyone to talk to other than themselves and Grillby. Well. And you, but. Well. The issue with that is kind of obvious.

No one has made a move to try and discuss anything with you. You stopped avoiding the skeleton brothers all together, now, but the days are now full of Sans staring again, and a lack of Papyrus talking. Even Grillby, who takes his first opportunity or makes one himself to figure out the details and help a little, is maintaining a distance.

You assume that, well, this makes perfect sense. You’d discussed ‘putting Sans down’ with another human. Logically, something here would change.

You wonder if now everyone hates you (uhm, that is, _more_ than before). You wonder if now they’re just more afraid of you.

The silence at this point is becoming an agony. You may or may not use it to torture yourself, and that may just be why your back to bringing them with you to work again.

Work is harder than ever. The labor especially. Sometimes something on your arm will open up and bleed. You have to stop to patch that sometimes.

It’s not like that matters. You don’t have as many long sleeves as you used to have as a teenager. You couldn’t hide it forever. It takes a couple of days to run out of sleeves, and unfortunately you hadn’t washed your hoodie in a while, so that only got you a couple more. By then, you had only shorter sleeves and nothing to hide them that made logical sense.

And it didn’t matter. It’s not like any coworkers or bosses cared. You don’t have friends (again, mostly from lack of attempt). Family is kind of obscure. That leaves two skeletons and a fire monster. Sort of. I mean they either hate you or find you terrifying, so. What’s that matter?

Apparently nothing, because even a few days after you started walking around with the bandages and scabbing slices out in the open, no one says anything at all and there’s just as much staring as usual. (Although, it’s not like there could be _more_ staring, you had been at max stares to begin with.)

It makes you feel a little stupid for having wasted time hiding them when obviously no one cares.

And even still as you accept that, and recognize that all three of them have started to hate you and fear you, it’s still there.

That little spark feeding on your own heart to make flames. It feels kind of cheesy to think of it like that, but as warmth in an otherwise cold, dead mind… it feels like a fire.

In the way that it _burns_ you.

No matter how much you think about _everything_ , everything you’ve done, you can’t figure it out.

You’ve done _everything_ you can.

You stepped in when you saw a monster getting beat in the street. You took Sans away from that man in a way that he couldn’t be taken again. You took him home and you did what you should; you gave him space, you gave him shelter, you gave him food and water. It had taken you a little while, but you’d even managed to get him the clothes. You did things you didn’t have a choice in, like the doctor, to make sure Sans _didn’t_ get taken away- but apparently that didn’t matter because Sans couldn’t care less if he was here or taken somewhere else. You shut down the doctors shitty ideas about what to do with you weak and useless slave and you kept him home safe. You tried to help make him happy, you tried to get him things he liked. You wanted to help. You didn’t want him to die or ‘fall down’ or whatever that meant. Then you saw someone so innocent with such a sad… painful look on their face and you- you spent so much of your money just to take him home and try to help him. it even turned out he was Sans’ brother! You took care of them both. You kept them both safe. The same treatment for the both of them, you let them have space and safety and the warmth of your home.

You did everything _right_.

You made the right _choices_ and you tried to _help_.

You were killing yourself in the process. You were working more than you ever had before to keep your pockets full enough to keep _them_. Keep them _safe_ and together.

You made every choice and you made the _right_ ones. So why was everything that happened- so- so _wrong_?

Still everything was _wrong_ and you had no idea what to do anymore. Everything had gotten worse, worse and worse.

Now there was just hate and fear.

Even you were afraid. Afraid of so many things. Afraid of work. Afraid of money. Afraid of society. Afraid of Sans. Afraid of yourself. Afraid of your own hands. Afraid of losing everything slowly. Afraid of that little spark in your heart being smothered. Afraid of it growing. Afraid of suffering. Afraid of everything. Afraid of how much your blood turned porcelain white. Afraid of how deep the cuts were getting. Afraid of the way your head was convincing you that not eating was a good way to save money. Afraid of the way that your daily drink had turned into 2, and then 3, and then 4, and then 5. Afraid of the way you used your night job to justify less and less sleep.

Afraid of the way that looking down over the windowsill from your open bedroom window was starting to look so…

So…

Inviting.

You were afraid, and you were alone; and yet, you were surrounded. By people who hated you and were afraid of you.


	27. Siblings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haptophobia; the fear or distaste of being touched, often associated with trauma, which can be overcome with trust for specific people, or with knowledge that one is completely safe.
> 
> vs 
> 
> Thixophobia; the fear or distaste of being touched, often associated as a symptom of ADHD, OCD, or Autism and other similar disorders as a result of Tactile Defensiveness Syndrome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's worth noting that Reader and Author have one or the other-- Haptophobia and Thixophobia.  
> Challenge: make your guess, which do you think i have and which do you think MC has?

You were supposed to be going to work.

Sans and Papyrus were a couple paces behind you, staring, as you walked the street that morning. Following like haunting ghosts.

There’s material in there for a joke, ghosts, skeletons, dead, haunting. You don’t put the effort in. you feel… weird, too weird to focus on bull shit jokes and crappy punnery.

This had frankly gotten worse, the way they did this, as the days passed. It’s like they were just waiting and watching, expecting you to either spontaneously combust or anticlimactically fall over dead. Still no attempts to make a pun out of death. No matter how fucking funny dead felt right now, considering its strange appeal lately.

When you suddenly stopped, however, they stopped too.

You looked up at the coffee shop in front of you and thoughts of your sister suddenly flood you. You haven’t been able to focus on next to anything for days on days; not since you’d had the near biblical-revelation-type epiphany that basically absolutely nothing mattered and that you were suddenly so afraid of everything to the point that you stopped actually feeling that fear. Not since, in a shorter sentence, the appealing “ _L'appel du vide_ ” from your bedroom window started to look so inviting.

Suddenly, your sister is all you can think about, and your focus unbreakable.

Family was always strange for you. It was, strangely, your siblings that were the strangest. All that strange, so strange to have used the word five times already? Why, yes, yes it was _that_ strange for you.

You didn’t really meet up with them much. It wasn’t like in the movies when they were ‘always there for you’ and always ‘had your back’. Or even in the manner that there was a phone call at least every year like on TV.

You wonder if that was just the real world, or if siblings could be and actually were like that. That they could miss each other the way Papyrus and Sans had. Or maybe the skeletons had a weird circumstance to them that made them so close? Perhaps that was just what slavery did to you. Made you love your siblings more.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

But if that were the case, why did it never make you grow fonder?

You looked at the brothers.

They stared back at you.

It had been over 4 days since you’d last said a word out loud.

“Do you want any coffee?”

The first words you’d said after 4 days. About as anticlimactic as falling over dead.

They stared at you.

You stared back.

Sans responded first, much to your surprise.

“Sure.”

It was. Short. But, while it had been 4 for you, it had been much longer since he’d spoken to you.

You opened the coffee shop door, and they quietly shuffled in before you followed. The three of you moved to the counter. Sans asked shortly for black. Papyrus motioned to a special they were having. The man at the cash register added your ‘usual’ to the list.

After twenty minutes of received coffee and sitting in the front of the store, you finally managed to get whatever nerve you’d had outside back up and stood. The boys watched you from the table as you stepped up to the counter again.

“Is Abby here?”

The worker looked up. He squinted thoughtfully. “Actually, she is. You want I should get her?”

You nodded.

You stood there and waited, and he disappeared through a door to the kitchen, or whatever is behind a coffee shop. He came back out soon, smiling at you, and behind him came a much taller woman.

She smiled at you kindly and softly upon spotting you.

“It’s been a while, angel.”

That nickname seems like it’s from a world many light years away.

You stared up at her, slow to register the first sentence youd heard from her in… very long. You tried to remember what she’d last said to you. your memories were muggy at best.

It really had been a while. “A year?”

“Closer to two, actually.”

You nod. “Will you come? Sit with me?”

She looks. Surprised. You can understand that. You weren’t one to seek out company, not even when you were younger.

She smiles again. “Alright, dear. I have the time.”

You nod, almost vaguely, and now you feel like the ghost only partly present in reality.

Quietly, you turn to walk to your table. It had four seats. You’d been certain to pick one that had enough room in case you managed to ask and incase she was here.

She sits beside you in another chair, across from the brothers. They’re staring at her, now.

“Friends of yours…?” She asks, curious, after a few long, quiet seconds.

You look up from where you’ve started staring at the table. You look at her, but then at the brothers. “This is Sans. And Papyrus. Brothers. My roommates.”

“Roommates?”

“Yea.”

“I understand.”

And she does. You remember talking to her about it, just like you had your mother. How much you hated everything about the slavery thing that was starting. You still hated it with that same passion that you’d had back nearly two years ago when it was first legally lain. She wouldn’t doubt that.

“It is nice to meet the two of you.” she smiles at them, too.

Sans looks like he did back when you two first met. Surprised, and distrustful. A little hateful. Blank. Papyrus looks confused and curious, if also surprised.

Your sister is tall and she has that same air of ‘big’. It’s why she’s such a good business woman. But she talks soft and airy and gentle. You have always sort of liked it. Like a gentle giant.

You introduce her, after a second longer.

“This… is… my sister. Abigail… Abby.”

Abby smiles.

“Wowie.” You hear Papyrus mutter.

You wonder if it’s because your sister has one of the most amazing smiles you’ve ever seen, or if it’s simply trying to imagine that you two are related. Your sister is huge and beautiful and imposing and soft and light in personality. You are smaller, simpler, barely intimidating in the least from a first glance, hard and heavy, darker mooded.

Sans is looking between you two, like he doesn’t get what’s happening here. “What are you trying to do, kid?”

You look at him. For a long moment. Long enough that he stops looking back at her and just bores his peering eyes at you like you’ve challenged him to a staring contest.

Your sister makes a soft humming sound and places one of her large hands on your shoulder. You tug to the side to dislodge it, and she retracts it.

You stop looking at Sans and stare at her. She makes a tiny apologetic noise. It sounds like another hum.

She meets your eyes for a few seconds, before she slowly leans down. Very slow. And kisses your cheek. She hums happily when you sit still, head tilted up to look at her.

She is so very warm, you notice absently as you feel the spot on your cheek left with a warm imprint, and look back down at the table. Like a detached, absent child.

“Don’t worry, angel.” You look back up at her. “You don’t have to be doing anything to come see me. You and your roommates are welcome here, always.”

She stands up slowly, that same patient, slow grace she has in the way she talks just the same in the way she moves. It’s just the same, and makes sense, that her soul is such a bright cyan as you’d heard from your brother.

She offers her hand to Papyrus. He doesn’t hesitate to shake it, still staring up at her. She offers it to Sans. He’s hesitant and slow, but he shakes it, stiff and staring. “Be safe, you two. I'm glad that you both are safe with my sister.”

Abby leaves and you sit there for a while, a long while. You don’t drink any more of your coffee. The brothers mange to finish theirs. You push yours forward toward them as an offer. They split it.

Eventually, you stand and go home, listless. You don’t work that day, and somehow, that feels okay.

You were just glad you happened to have worn the long sleeves this morning; for once you cared about hiding those cuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abby gives me a vague Rose Quartz from Steven Universe vibe...


	28. Closing a gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Past is far behind you, but, it has long arms. It can reach.

You lost a couple jobs after seeing your sister yesterday, but, you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

It had been a very long time since you had seen her, but she hadn’t changed a bit.

It was always strange to be around your siblings these days. They, out of anyone, probably had the best Point Of View when it came to understanding you out of anyone other. They understood your story, and better than you ever could, even though it was supposed to be _yours_.

No less, it was back to the daily grind the next day, which included hunting for new jobs to try and fill in the gaps.

One thing did change, and you aren’t sure what, but, now Papyrus was talking to you again.

You were on the bus the next day when he did start again; “Your sister was very nice, human.”

You nodded quietly back, “She’s very sweet.”

“…if your human sister was so near, why have you not seen her in the last years?”

It was a genuine question, and it was fair to ask.

You considered it for a minute.

“…sometimes, bad family ruins the _whole_ family, Papyrus.”

“Bad family? There is no such thing!”

He looked at you so assuredly, with no doubt in his voice. You figure Sans must have been his only family, and with those two so close, you weren’t surprised.

“…” you didn’t want to ruin that for Papyrus. “Guess you’re right, pap. Must have just been my kid self’s imagination.”

You went the whole day, and Papyrus worked with you again. That was nice. It gave you that same disgusted feeling at the end when you got paid and he didn’t, but, his help was companionable.

Sans sat at the distance as usual, and didn’t say a word. He watched and you couldn’t really tell if he was glaring. You were pretty sure he was, at times, but others, just staring.

He mostly took naps. And with Papyrus here, those naps were longer, because the taller skeleton had the habit of just picking Sans up when he was napping and carrying him around. Either in Koala mode, or on his back.

It was strange, and yet not, to watch them like this.

Kind of adorable, too.

You looked over your shoulder at them. They were both walking, now, but holding each other’s hand. They were so sweet it may have given you cavities.

You held up your hand and looked at it. Trying to remember the last time you’d walked like that, holding someone’s hand. You think you were little. 6 or 7, holding your Older brother’s hand as you crossed a street… no, you held Abby’s, a while after that, didn’t you?

Oh. The last time you held a hand was the police officer, that day. Oh.

Walking to the police car. The flashing blue and red lights in your vision make you jump the slightest. Your hand is covered in blood, the officer is holding it in his. The feeling of it wet between your fingers runs over your skin and for a moment, all you can see is red on your hand, turning brown and flaking. You see it on your hand like it’s now, not a memory from a life time ago. You’ve never been that cold, that freezing, before. That strange man, the officer, you don’t think you ever saw him again. His hand had been so warm, but you… hadn’t really… _felt_ it. you had been so cold. Numb. Hard. Empty.

“Hey, Papyrus?”

“YES, HUMAN?”

You're a little proud you didn’t wince at his voice and volume, but, then again you aren’t entirely there. Not right now. You’re away, mostly, thinking.

“Is Sans’ hand warm?”

“OH. WHY, YES, ACTUALLY.”

You hum thoughtfully. The sound of his voice makes the image of blood, the primary colored lights in the darkness, the crying in your ears, the sound of officers over radio… it makes it all fade.

“Is yours, pap?”

“Yeah.” Sans answers instead. Out of the corner of your eye, you see their hands tighten.

You look back down at yours. The distant sound of a Police Officer’s voice through a walkie talky and Abby screaming mix as your vision is briefly interrupted with flashing blue and red. Your hand is thick with flaking blood, caked into the crack of your skin.

You hear Papyrus’ feet pick up a little speed, just enough, that he’s ahead of Sans a bit more and closer to you, closing that little gap. A big hand of bone touches yours.

You pull away with a jump, taking a step backward and everyone stops.

You stare at Papyrus, and he stares back at you with empty eye sockets. They don’t give you the feeling of dread like when Sans’ eyes are empty. You just know he’s looking at you. He has no pupils, but, you know he is.

Slowly, his hand rises up again, and just as carefully, his fingers brush yours.

You are reminded of how your sister acts toward you.

You watch his fingers knit into yours, and feel your palm press into his, slow, and warm. Your hand, slack, tightens just a bit. The blood on your hand fades back into your skin, like it had been your blood, as his hand practically engulfs yours.

You look up at Papyrus.

He smiles.

You smile back, smaller and weaker.

The three of you walk back home like that.

That spark in your heart has never been so bright.

His hand is warm.

You feel it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaaay but likeif anyone has a favorite Undertale Reader-Insert x Sans story
> 
> please link me
> 
> i want to read mooore


	29. Bad Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> its just a hard life, honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait darlings. its been a tough week hah. evictions and sun stroke and etc. but your here for the story so ill hush up now yeah?

You imagined most people just had an easier life than you.

You admit, that’s partly your fault.

Most people do not accept hateful short skeletons given to them as- well, as basically bribes on the street. Most people do not spend money they can’t afford to spend on taller skeletons. Most people are not as emotionally complex or historically damaged as you.

But, honestly, life shouldn’t be this hard for anyone.

And it’s just your brand of difficult, hard life that gets your ass jumped in an alleyway on the one day that neither skeleton brother is with you on your way home that night from your last day job.

Granted, you didn’t lose a lot of money- once again, it’s downright stupid to carry too much money on you in the city. But of course your mugger was not impressed with the mere 20 bucks and you got the shit beat out of you.

You don’t make it home that night, you black out in the alley.

It’s probably about noon or later in the next day, when you wake up in the same spot you blacked out. It takes about an hour for you to have the panic attack that comes next as you wonder what happened to you while you were unconscious, and you feel filthy and itchy. Most of that hour is spent in fetal position against the alleyway, trembling and trying not to burst into little screams.

You take as many short cuts as you can to stay off the main roads and avoid attention- you’re covered in dirt and blood and your shirt is practically nonexistent and isn’t covering what’s necessary in its tattered state. You can’t stop crying and there’s a serious pain in your shoulder that’s familiar to you; your arm is dislocated. Among other pains- you can feel the ache in your just that burns- not metaphorically, but literally- a broken rib. Moving aggravates shallow knife cuts all over you, and they’re bleeding again by the time you get through the empty lobby and to the elevator. You’re lucky your building is mostly empty this time of day.

You unlock and push open your door and all you can do is lock it before sliding down the wall and crippling over long enough to just feel all of the pain rushing at you.

“HUMAN ARE YOU BACK?!” You hear scrabbling from the back, toward the bedrooms.

At the same time, you hear, “Kid? Is that you?” coming from the kitchen.

You try to stand up, maybe you can make it to your room before anyone sees you- that, a more rational you would realize, is not possible considering Papyrus is back there. Sans has already landed upon you, though, to see you scrambling to stand against the door.

Your shoulder twists wrong and the pain hits you so hard, you black out again. All you can do in those last seconds is curse yourself.


	30. A Change of Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a soul that needs rest.

When you wake up again, you’re on the couch, practically swaddled in a blanket.

You hurt… significantly less than when you passed out.

You figure maybe you just can’t feel anything yet, since your still waking up, but a testing roll of your shoulder… tells you it’s back in its socket and it doesn’t scream pain anymore. There’s still a quiet whisper of pain, but, that’s just fucking _fine_ in your book, you much prefer this whisper to agonized screaming.

It takes you a second more to come to the realization that your head is resting in someone’s bony lap, and you stare up in (mortified) shock at a fast asleep Papyrus.

You sit up quickly, and thankfully he doesn’t wake up.

However, as you shuffle off the couch, reveling in a confusing lack of pain, you look down and come to yet another realization.

You are _not_ in the same clothes you were in when you came home.

That’s good because, your shirt hadn’t quite been a shirt anymore, and everything left of it and your pants had been bloody and filthy.

That’s also _very very very_ not okay because now you’re in different clothes which meant at previous point in time you were unconscious and naked with two people you don’t know and you are definitely hyperventilating because you can’t breathe right anymore and you feel positively _disgusting_ and this isn’t okay it is very very _very not okay_.

“Kid?”

You are somehow not screaming, there’s that at least, as you whip around and stare at the mortally exhausted looking short skeleton known as Sans stumbling in from the kitchen.

He gets a look at your face now that you’re turned around. His expression instantly changes. What it was before, you don’t know. What it is now, you don’t know, either. “Bud? What’s with the water works? Somethin’ still hurt-?”

He takes a step forward and you bolt.

 You fight to unlock your bedroom door, and slam it behind you. It locks soundly again when you’re on the side you want to be on.

 You hear Sans call your name as you slide down the door to the floor. You pull at this strange shirt- you recognize it as one of the ones you’d bought Sans. It’s white and big on you, big on him too, and you’re also wearing one of the pairs of sweat pants he rarely wears in favor of the pairs shorts you’ve also gotten him.

Suddenly, you hear him on the other side of the door, astoundingly close. You hadn’t even heard him walk down the hall.

“Look, kid, I know you and me are weird and shit but if you’re still hurt you need to come back out so it can get fixed.”

You don’t say anything, instead scramble toward your closet to try and find your own clothes.

“…Kid, don’t make me come in there.”

What.

He can’t.

Locked door.

For some reason you get the distinct feeling that that can’t stop Sans- he was magic, maybe he could break down the door or something.

Would he break down your door?

Was he that violent?

That angry?

Is he angry?

You don’t want him to come here.

“- _d-d-don’t._ ”

Silence.

“Come on out, kiddo.”

You struggle out of his pants and put on your own pair of sweats, the first thing you find. You’re panic does calm significantly upon noting your wearing the same underwear and you just want to hope that means they were never touched.

You’re starting to curse yourself as you can’t find a shirt to wear in the pile, when again he calls, “seriously, come out here, kid. Let me help fix you up.”

“Wh-wh- _wh-who_ who chann-ng-ged m- me?”

“Come on, kid, what kind of skeletons do you take us for?”

You can’t find a shirt to save your fucking life and at this rate you’re throwing clothes around your room.

“Papyrus did.” He finally provides.

That calms you down a little. Papyrus is too sweet and soft.

You fight internally on what to do, but, eventually you give.

You tiptoe slowly toward the door, and just as slowly unlock it before inching it open.

“D-Doesn’t hurt.” You manage.

You never noticed before now, but he’s a little bit shorter than you. He’s still smiling, but you get the distinct feeling he’s looking at you with a frown as his bright little pupils look you over. You watch the floor instead because those white lights feel too personal.

Eyes are “windows to the soul”, and, that feels especially true with a monster’s eyes literally change with how he feels.

Finally, he lets out a sigh. “Stars, kid, you look scared to the _bone_. Pale as the _dead_.” He pauses, but you make no sound in reaction to his puns, so he moves aside to point you down the hall way. “Can’t let you lock yourself in. we gotta keep a _socket_ on ya, just in case. Bro an’ I never quite healed humans before. Go lay down on the couch, alright, kid?”

You nod and carefully trickle back into the living room, curling up on the couch, on the opposite side of it from Papyrus.

You’re already half way asleep again when Sans follows you in, the blanket from your bed on tote. He throws it over you and you take in a deep breath as he goes to adjust the other one on Papyrus.

You sleep.


	31. Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who is watching who and who truly feels what?

You have another nightmare.

It’s the same as the last one, when you had the bad day.

Luckily, you don’t wake up screaming.

It’s been a few days since the mugging incident; about a week.

You called in, gave your statement, gave whatever details you could recall. But, you had no expectations and neither, you could tell, did the police.

You are one of the lowest classes and you got mugged. Muggings happen every day in every city. You can’t expect anything. You didn’t.

The only change is, now the skeleton brothers make a point of being up in the morning. They’re going to go with you. Every day.

You remember all the times you jokingly imagined them as body guards, or gave that response to people who asked why you had them.

Oddly enough, you feel very… safe, with them at your back and keeping an eye on you.

Even Grillby is back to talking to you, and is very concerned to see you the first day afterward. You wonder how Grillby would know, until you find out Sans had left the house and gotten food from Grillby the day you didn’t wake up.

You wonder how often Sans left the house, honestly. It wasn’t like he was under house arrest, you just hadn’t known he’d left on his own before. You hoped he was at least being careful when he did that. Monsters legally can’t go off like that without written consent notes from their (ugh) owners.

Either way, you wake up shaken and cold that night.

You wander into the kitchen after composing yourself for a few moments.

Sans is taking a nap at the kitchen bar. You aren’t surprised.

Then again, its night time. Who wouldn’t sleep?

You, apparently. And him, normally. Naps aside, that is.

He didn’t stir as you walked past. You stop to watch him for a moment. Firstly to wonder how a skeleton closed its eyes- er, sockets- but then secondly to sigh in a strange, incoming content and just feel that warm little spark in your heart. It helped melt the numb cold feeling.

Companionship is quite strange a concept, you deem, placing your hand over your sternum, the center of the warmth.

Warm, like the palm of Papyrus’ hand. Warm like your sister’s kiss. Warm like watching the brothers snuggle. Warm like talking to Grillby at lunchtime. Warm like teaching Papyrus patient style cooking. Warm like knowing Sans was in your home and sleeping safely.

You paused, and shook your head. “Heh. Damn skeletons. Turning me into a sap.” Just a soft whisper under your breath, no intention of waking Sans.

You pulled a cup from the drainer by the sink, poured just a little bit of milk, and hopped up onto the bar counter to sit.

You drank a sip, before getting distracted by a glance at your arm. Your fingers brushed your cuts.

You hadn’t cut since the morning of the day you’d gone to see your sister.

You hadn’t… noticed, but all the marks on your arm were healed, and a glance at the other said the same thing. Healed. You wonder which brother did that; it had been a week or two, but all of the self inflicted injuries had receded much too much for it to have healed naturally.

The deepest ones had left pale lines as scars, and others were still slightly raised, just a bit to catch the marks in your peripheral, and feel them when you ran your hand down them.

You put down the cup, cold from the milk, and looked at your hand. Cold. You were very cold.

Not just your hand, not just from holding the milk. You were hard, and you were cold. A joking, sarcastic part of you laughed that you certainly belonged with the skeletons. Made of hard, cold bone.

Except, Papyrus’ hand had been warm.

You looked at Sans.

Maybe he was warm.

You wondered.

One hand hovered over one of his hands, lying on the counter.

You wondered if he’d feel warm like that. You could feel that little spark in your chest ache, it burned warm, like Papyrus’ hand, like your sisters patience and affection, like watching the brothers interact, like making Grillby scoff at bad puns.

You took your hand back, and slipped off the counter. You grabbed the blanket draped on the back of the couch and unfolded it before carefully putting it around the skeleton, careful not to touch him.

You went and got your cup of milk, finished it, and slipped the glass silently into the sink.

You looked one last time at Sans-

And felt your heart freeze with the rest of you when you saw his eyes open through the dim light, almost screaming at the sudden fright. His pupils watched you, soft white lights. No glare, just a soft stare.

Then they closed again.

“…goodnight, Sans.” You whispered quietly. Your shock and fear ebbed, and your tensed shoulders sank.

“’night, kid.”

You went back to your room, and managed to sleep again.


	32. Tales from Down Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Negativity comes with Epiphany which spawns from thinking too hard

Papyrus has been telling you one hell of a story this morning.

Frankly, you don’t remember shit how you got on the topic. It had been such a normal morning, that everything leading up to his tale was. Well, it was unimportant and your brain just didn’t file the information.

The story itself, however, was one of the most important modern events that had happened in the past 50 years.

The tale of how Frisk saved the underground and… freed… the monsters.

And told, at that, from the first hand of someone who had known Frisk well an played an actual part in it.

It was kind of like interviewing George Washington on fighting the Revolution.

Uh, except, in Papyrus’ story, there was no death. No blood at all, in fact.

It was the story of a Human child that befriended every monster they met and rescued all of the underground- including some sparse details that wouldn’t have made it to the history books: such as how Frisk set up two of Papyrus’ friends, Undyne and Alphys, and that Papyrus themselves had a date with Frisk, and that the human had had a weird habit of stuffing food in their pockets and storing it up, and that they’d carried an old Band-Aid around to use again and again anytime they were hurt, and how they just picked up and wore random things they found like tutus or old glasses.

Frisk sounded weird.

But…

Noble. Kind.

Papyrus spun the tale beautifully, down to the first parts he knew- that Frisk had fallen into the ruins and flirted with the once-queen Lady Toriel before calling her ‘Mom’- to the last details he’d known- that Frisk had agreed to be the ambassador, and to live with Toriel, as they looked out on their first sunset.

It was quite the tale, and you’d done nothing at all, full attention rapt upon Papyrus as he told with exuberance, making wide gestures with his arms, and elaborating great details about all his friends.

You listened to him for two hours, frankly enraptured.

Frisk was perhaps the greatest enigma of the current day.

No one knew who the child had been, how they had gotten to and fallen into Ebott, and you were pretty sure few if any humans had actually heard the tale of _how_ Frisk freed the monsters of the underground. No one knew, either, what had happened to the human.

Frisk had, somehow, vanished. When the monsters had been brought down, even the queen and king, Frisk was gone. It was rumored that Asgore, a child murderer, had killed Frisk as revenge for the betrayal of humanity and taken the child’s soul. Asgore has since disappeared, too.

But Frisk. No one knew who the child had been. No parents or family stepped forward during over the year before the monster situation went south. No records arose. Frisk was just a human that… _existed_ , suddenly, and came from the underworld with the monsters.

There was another wide theory that maybe Frisk never had been a human, just a shape shifting monster or a monster that had _looked_ human, but after the seizure of monsters had just been classified as that- a monster- or maybe became another human in appearance and was living as one to this day.

You gave Papyrus these theories, but you told him your own theory- that Asgore and Frisk had both vanished and had run off together. Which was the most obvious and widely accepted theory, but, also the most logical.

Papyrus agreed. He said, yes, Frisk was most definitely a human. He had seen their human soul himself. Many monsters had. And he added, King ‘FluffyBuns’ would never kill for vengeance. And that, in the time of the first year, before Frisk “went away”, Asgore had been Frisks father of sorts just as Lady Toriel had been Frisk’s mother. He both believed it was impossible Asgore could kill the human child, and that it was very likely that Asgore had taken Frisk with him when he had escaped.

That’s when your conversation shifted. You asked Papyrus how Frisk had gotten along with their father and mother.

He told you about how Asgore had been teaching Frisk about diplomacy and tasks for being and ambassador as well as gardening. Toriel had been helping and handling most of the school subjects- she wanted to be a teacher. The king and queen were separated, but, for Frisk they had worked together. Not quite perfectly- Papyrus said there was always a tension when the King and Queen were in the same room, Frisk or no Frisk. He talked about how sweet a mother was; she was motherly to everyone, to him, Sans, Undyne, and Alphys as well as Frisk- sometimes even to Mettaton, when the robot had been around. He talked about how gentle and understanding Asgore was, and his ways with flowers and tea and relaxing things like so.

You asked about Alphys and Undyne. Papyrus told you of the valiant, powerful warrior woman who had defended the royal family until she was brought down. He talked about Alphys, the royal scientist and genius woman who loved the dump and building machinery and blogged about anime every day.

You asked Papyrus if he’d known Grillby, like Sans had. Papyrus told you about the grease trap, as he called it, run under grillby’s name. How Sans spent most of his time there, and how it was where all the royal guard’s dogs went after sentry duty to play poker and get pets and attention after a long days work.

You asked about the Inn, and Papyrus told you about the bunbun people. The one who liked to walk a smaller bunbun on a leash through town, about the woman who ran the shop that sold the homemade cinnabuns, and about her sister, the Snowed Inn shop keeper, and her four bunbun children who lived there, including the smallest who liked to help her at the front desk.

The thought settled on your mind and you stopped asking questions. Papyrus watched you for a second, before leaving you to lay on the couch in your thoughts- he’d gotten used to you fading out like that.

You couldn’t help it. The thought that settles was now swarming you as you realize- nothing had changed.

Sans and Papyrus were together- you’d done a good thing, in a way.

But the good was atomic in comparison to everything.

Your good was so little and meaningless.

Like giving a bunny woman your contacts, but still every day she took whatever hits she was given and her children were gone.

Maybe you helped two monsters and maybe you could help them until you failed and lost them all together.

But you were still a human and nothing in the world had changed.

Grillby was still a slave who’s tips were stolen and worked for free. Your tips mean nothing. The Inn Keeper woman was still a mother being pushed around with cruelty whod had her children taken away. Your offer to ‘help’ meant nothing. Monsters were still beaten on the streets like trash and still had to work for those terrible humans. Having intervened once and taken steps to try a second time meant nothing.

Nothing you had done mattered.

Once again you had been reminded of this fact. Nothing you did _mattered_.

Still this world was cruel, still this world worked on suffering.

And you were a human.

You were just a human among thousands, and you were a part of this system of cruelty and suffering, and these little pieces of _nothing_ you did made up for _nothing_.

You understood, now, why Sans hates you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so is the single point of view pissing anyone off yet after 32 chapters?


	33. Lemon Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shadow person is the perception of a patch of shadow as a living, humanoid figure, particularly as interpreted by believers in the paranormal or supernatural as the presence of a spirit or other entity.
> 
> A sleep paralysis sufferer may perceive a "shadowy or indistinct shape" approaching them when they lay awake paralyzed, and become increasingly alarmed. A person experiencing heightened emotion, such as while walking alone on a dark night, may incorrectly perceive a patch of shadow as an attacker. They are also results of Chronic Anxiety, Chronic Sleep Deprivation and Insomnia, Chronic Paranoia, Chronic Drug Dependency, and a numerous mental disorders from PTSD to Schizophrenia.

Sometimes life fucking sucks.

Other times, it gives you a lemon.

Sometimes life still fucking sucks because you can’t make _lemonade_ with just a damn lemon. That’s how you get lemon juice. Which SUCKS.

Sometimes you’ve got a little water and some sugar and you can make a single cup of lemonade, but, life still fucking sucks for everyone else.

Sometimes you can give that lemonade to someone else, but that ‘feel good charity’ bit only lasts so long before you realize now life sucks and you don’t even have a damn lemon now.

Life looks you in the eye and says “So fucking what? I already gave you a damn lemon, get your own shit, bitch.”

And you look life in the eyes and say, “YOU FUCKING SUCK. YOU SUCK LEMONS, LIFE. YOU’RE SALTY AND BITTER. YOU SUCK.”

And then life rips you a new asshole. On your forehead. Which. Fucking. Sucks.

You pause, half way walking down the street.

Wow your train of thought got weird.

You pull out your ear buds to stop listening to “Lemon Tree” by Fool’s Garden before it gets any weirder or lemon-y-er, tuning back into “The life of the city” instead.

i.e. cars honking their asses off and the distant sound of someone being mugged (a short flash back hits you that you refuse to acknowledge, shivering and forcing down the rapid beat of your heart and elongating your shallow breaths. You knew how to handle panic attacks after so many years.) that you can only barely hear over a bunch of people screaming at each other in rage.

Wow, this city almost sucks as bad as lemon-sucking life does.

“Welcome back to earth, space cadet.” Sans jokes sarcastically as you stuff your headphones into your pocket, trying to pretend they won’t come out again later in an annoying knot. “Don’t let our gravity hold your weird thoughts _down_ while your back, hehehe.”

“You’re hilarious, bone daddy.” Your voice is just as sarcastic. “A real rib tickler.”

“I try my best to be humerus.”

“I’d kick your ass for these lame jokes, but uh, ya aint got one, Skeledude.”

“A joke like that really takes guts. You can see why I didn’t make it.”

“Yup, I can totally see why. I can see _right through_ ya.”

“Eye see what you did there.”

You finally turn to look at Sans to trade one last joke that you’re _sure_ will win the unofficial game-

Groucho glasses.

He’s wearing Groucho glasses.

You crack right up, wheezing. “h-holy fuck, dude.”

“Hehehe. I'm surp-eyes-ed you find this gag so funny.”

“I must-ache where you stole those from, you shifty little fucker.” You retort, opening the door to Solars and waiting for him to walk through. He still has a slight pause but, hes definitely got in the habit again.

“Jeeze, stop tryin’ ta grill-me about them.” He gestures at Grillby. The man of fire is already huffing at you two.

“I can’t help it, I need to know where I can get a pair of _hot_ shades like those, too.”

“I am quite _smoking_ with these, aren’t I?” you’re both sitting at the bar now.

“You’re on _fire_ , bone daddy.”

A few seconds of silence, before you both completely erupt in a fit of snorts, giggles and laughter.

Still half out of breath, you wheeze, “God I'm glad pap stayed home today, he’d _roast_ us for this.”

It’s too soon and you both immediately crack up again as Sans takes off his glasses to wipe incredibly blue colored tears from his eyes. “G-god, he’d- he’d be so _steamed_ at us.”

The topper is Grillby slamming your food on the counter in front of you two with a quiet growl and you both lose it again. You have to slide out of your chair so you won’t fall out of it as you keel over, and Sans is banging his fist on the bar counter trying to get it together.

“… … … you two sure are… _fired up_ today…” comes at you just as you and Sans are quiet enough to hear it as you both gasp for breath and- bam.

You are literally on the floor laughing and Sans has hid his blue-turned face in his jacket and you have never heard him laugh so loud and wow okay what a _great_ fucking day.

You’re pretty sure something in your gut busted by the time you managed to get back in you chair and Sans’ face is a really pretty shade of blue just as you’re sure yours is red from laughing that hard.

Neither of you can help giggling through lunch. Grillby keeps chuckling at you two and shaking his head. Nothing bad happens today, nothing at all, except needing to try and pop your ears to get rid of an irritating static and a soft onset or paranoia- shadow people standing on corners and behind Sans or at his side now and again.

Thankfully that goes away, too. It’s just a good, happy day. Life didn’t give you a lemon today. Its just a good, happy day and you go home cracking puns with Sans and make desert with Papyrus out of pancakes and syrup and even rip off the movie Elf and make Papyrus Spaghetti smothered in syrup instead of dinner. You even put on the movie for them to watch and Papyrus screams in excitement to see his dinner on the screen.

Yeah. This, this was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh excuse me for being so slow nyeeehhh


	34. Sales Pitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> readers first year with sans has come to an end. the start of their second year in one another's company is not so pleasant.

It had been by accident that you caught the stranger at Solar’s eye.

It’s been 4 or 5 months, give or take a week, since you’d met and bought Papyrus. Since then he has settled well into the two of you’s routine. And by that, you meant, he’s totally changed it to fit him.

That’s a good thing, probably.

Papyrus is an expert in breaking silences and freezing uncomfortable feelings, if nothing else. He fills your walks and bus rides with chatter that makes it easier for you to comment and for Sans to make puns in.

Sans is certainly more comfortable now, at the least. A little less stiff, his starring spells are shorter, and his naps a little deeper. Papyrus likes to carry him around sometimes. It’s nice. You like the two of them like this.

Papyrus helped you wake up in the mornings, too. He had just the right kind of energy to get you going and motivated. He did the same thing to Sans. It really helped on those bad mornings when you had normally had to stop to get the coffee at the shop.

And when you got fired, or yelled at during work, Papyrus would offer you his hand on the way home. It was… nice, feeling the warmth of the bone.

You’d stopped at a thrift store today to get a new jack when yours had been torn at work about a week ago, and Sans had crept up to you and dropped a large pair- way too big for him- of red gloves next to the jacket you were looking at on a table. You’d picked them up, glancing up at him but he’d only stared straight ahead, expressionless. It wasn’t hard to figure out they were for pap- I mean, they were huge, and Papyrus did favor bright warm colors. You’d been just as calm and silent about it as him, taking them and the jacket to the register alongside a couple new shirts for Sans and a few pairs of pants your managed to find that would actually fit Papyrus.

You’d been happy that he’d brought them to you, honestly. I mean. The last time you were here, he’d just stolen anything he wanted, like those slippers of his. The fact he’d come over and trusted you to buy them… it almost made you teary eyed. Which was probably stupid, they were just gloves.

You gave them back to Sans when Papyrus wasn’t looking after leaving, and you watched the expression on his skull brighten. He couldn’t even wait to get home to give them to him- which was probably good, considering how loud Papyrus was in his happiness. He hasn’t taken them off since. You’d kind of miss the warmth of his magic bone hands, but… the warm _emotion_ was there all the same, and that’s what mattered.

Now you were sitting at the counter of Solars, watching Papyrus hand model the gloves as he showed them off to Grillby, Sans beaming at his side.

You’d gotten kind of used to the feeling of being stared at by now. Between Sans’ creepy habit of staring at you and the looks you got for walking around with two monsters- two _skeletons_ at that, naturally cool and worth staring at (at least, _you_ thought so)- and especially considering Papyrus kind of demanded attention with his striding and volume and exuberance. Now to mention new patrons to Solars were always surprised to see how casual ‘your’ (ick) monsters behaved here in public and how friendly you were with yet another monster worker, Grillby.

You’d been asked more than once even by regulars how you and Grillby managed to get along in a conversation… when there was only _half_ a conversation. A few you knew well had also asked about Sans since- again- no one ever thought _you_ would have a monster considering all the drunken rants you’d had at this bar about how much the slavery thing disgusted you. And even more had done so when Papyrus started coming along. There had been lots of stares then, too.

But when you looked around in that casual manner people just do when their mind is wandering as Papyrus chattered to a chuckle-crackling and otherwise quiet Grillby, your eyes locked with another of those stares.

Except. It felt innately _different_.

He wasn’t staring at you, but it felt like it. He was actually staring at Sans. But the whole little group felt like a part of you, and it was just as invasive feeling.

You couldn’t read that look well, either. it wasn’t as impossible as Sans, you’re pretty sure no one could be as hard to read as that skeleton (despite how weirdly fucking expressive his skull is to be made out of _bone_ , but _whatever,_ fuck logic). You tried to piece that expression together, but it just rang as “curiosity” and “interest”. But not the usual type when a skeleton happens to walk by, a _different_ curious, a _different_ interest.

You didn’t like it.

After a few moments as you stared at that man and he stared at Sans’ back, looking the skeleton up and down over and over like trying to scan him, trying to figure something out, he finally notice you staring back at him.

Rather than the usual guilty “oh fuck got caught starring” routine where he would quickly look away or smile awkwardly or something, his eyes flickered back to Sans before he motioned at you vaguely to come over to his table.

You rose a brow, and shot a glance at the brothers and Grillby. The fire monster was still half way stuck in Papyrus’ amazing exaggerated tail that wouldn’t be ending soon, and Sans was half way between falling into a nap and telling his brother how cool he was and what a great story he could always tell. That was… adorable, wow.

You slid away with ease, they were all so busy. You made your way over to the table, paused awkwardly when you got there, and the man motioned you to take a seat. You hadn’t gone far, only a couple feet actually. You wonder if whoever this guy was picked the closest table just to stare at Sans.

“So uh,” stranger guy started awkwardly. “You’re a renter. Right?”

You blink. Oh, god, was this like a scheme? “Yup.” You leaned forward onto one elbow and smirked. You wouldn’t have been so concerned if you’d known this was just going to be some sort of pitch. You wondered if there was some stereotype that you could tell if someone rented the place where they live? You wondered if he was going to be trying to sell you like, a pent house or somethin. That would be hilarious. He’d sure as hell change gears and get the hell outta here if he knew how broke you were.

“How much would ya say?” he asked, relaxing from his awkwardness almost immediately at your affirmation.

“’round 3,000$.” You had a pretty cheap rent, considering the apartment size. Then again, you didn’t pay rent for included water or heat or electricity, that was all separate.

“Christ that is _steep_.” He chuckled, then glanced at the skeleton brothers quickly. He pointed at each of them and then at you, “both, right?”

“Yup. Brothers, actually.” You’d learned not to react physically when asked the generic _so they’re both yours right?_ Which was… disturbing. You wonder just how much ‘having’ (ick) monsters affecter the price for this guy’s pitch.

There was a brief silence as he seemed to think, during which you were amazed at how bad of a job this guy did at trying to sell shit. He should consider a new career.

Heh, like you’re one to talk. Hehehe.

“Hey, pal, what’s goin’ on over there?” you turned your head and Sans had turned his attention your way from the counter. He looked confused, and… well. Something else you didn’t quite get because again. Impossible to read. You were getting a tiny layer of tension in your readings, though. It was odd. Perhaps Sans just likes strange humans even less than he likes you- as impossible as that kinda seems, considering how much he hates just you.

It appears Papyrus has finished the tale of his gloves, because you don’t see Grillby and now the taller skeleton has turned your way, too. “HUMAN, YOU LEFT US OVER HERE! YOU SHOULD HAVE INTRODUCED US TO YOUR HUMAN FRIEND!”

“Uh- is that thing a kid?” the guy suddenly looked disturbed.

“ _Probably not_?” you chuckled uncertainly, waving at Papyrus. That seemed to cheer him up just fine and he went back to eating his salad.

Sans slipped off his chair- you noted he’d finished his food already- and walked the short distance over.

“Then, uh, I think I’ll just stick with the one.” Stranger guy motioned to Sans before starting to search his pockets.

Sans tensed, just a step away from reaching the table as he’d intended, but you just blinked, raising a brow at him again.

Before you could ask what he meant, stranger guy pulled out a wad of cash and you straightened up sharply. “Just uh, 1,500$ to only rent one for the night, right?”

The temperature suddenly dropped on you and you were suddenly hyper aware of a slight tremble that had started on the skeleton frozen at your side.

Life just gave you a rotten fucking lemon. Something was _wrong_ here.

You stood abruptly and the chair clattered on the tile of the bar floor. “Sans, I need you to go get Pap. We’re leaving.”

Sans was frozen still aside from the slightest shaking, but, a lot of attention was on you anyway from your abrupt reaction and the loud sound of the chair. Papyrus had been one such person who’s attention had locked onto the situation and was at Sans side in a couple seconds.

“Honey, what’s the commotion?” oh lookit that. Apollo. Grillby is behind him, squinting (how do you know he’s squinting?? He doesn’t have eyes?? You’ve spent way too much time with this walking ball of fire.) in a low-key angry kind of way at stranger guy. “Are you having some kind of _problem_?” you didn’t know Apollo- that kind tubby guy in an ill fit suit- could actually sound threatening.

You’ve known Apollo since your last year of high school, probably the only person you’ve kept in contact with, and you’ve done so more out of sheer chance since his place just happened to be the one you like. you aren’t surprised he’s already taking your side here, though, considering how long you’ve known him. But, as nice as he is, you don’t want any more attention from the owner picking fights and- well, judging from the look of Sans, he doesn’t need any of this attention, either.

Instinctively you know it’s a bad idea to try and touch him yourself, but, you need to get him out of here and he’s kind of shut down mobility wise. “Pappy, you think you can help your brother out the door?” you say quickly, shuffling closer to him and giving Sans a wide radius.

“OKAY, HUMAN.” Papyrus is very slow the way he moves compared to his normal speed, but Sans doesn’t react when Papyrus pick him up. Papyrus walks straight for the front door, his smaller brother stiff in his arms.

You turn back to Apollo, Grillby and stranger dude, sweating a little at the tension.

“Boys, just calm down. A tiny misunderstanding.”

Stranger dude is not nearly as calm, “I just wanted a rental, man! She was all on board until the short one came over!”

You turned on him, glaring. “I thought we were talking about _apartments_! Why the fuck are you walking around trying to _rent_ people?!”

“I- I mean you just bring them around all the time and show them off, I figured you were- were a renter!”

 You _almost_ flip the table, but decide not to because its fixed to the cheep linoleum tile.

“If you _ever_ try to _rent a night_ with Sans again I will force your own eyes into your urethra, you _sick_ little fucker.”

You figure both him and Apollo get weird mental images cause they both wince.

“Honey, go on and go home.” The bar owner says carefully, “Take your skelly’s and get out of here. Monster Prostitution is illegal, we’ll hold him till we get a cop here.”

Grillby turns to you and he still looks slightly pissed, in fact, more so, now that he heard what happened. He gives you a rough thumbs up and points you at the door.

Stranger dude is pale as Apollo starts to lead him to the back, already pulling out his phone to put in the call. You give Grillby a deeply apologetic look. “Don’t hesitate to call me if there’s an issue with that guy and the cops.”

Grillby nods, and tilts his head toward the door. You nod, fish out your own usual money and tip, and pass it to Grillby.

Looks like it’ll be another day of cutting work. But the thought only catches you briefly by the laces, barely trips you up, and you keep going full speed. You need to take Sans home, and you have far too much to think about to worry about work right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not that Sans or reader remember the date but the day of this chapter is their 1-year-anniversary since Sans was transferred to reader's ownership.


	35. Matter and Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which while you can try and take car of the body physiologically, it is much the harder to take care of the mind psychologically.

You’d led Papyrus home on the quickest route you had, and he carried Sans on his back, but by the time you’d gotten home and gotten the door unlocked, Sans hadn’t changed much.

Papyrus carefully set him down on the couch, but he probably could have punted him there and Sans wouldn’t have reacted. Aside from the shaking, which had gotten a little stronger in intensity, he wasn’t moving or reacting to anything at all.

Some stupid part of you was mildly reminded of a 2 litter of soda, shaken up real bad but only _almost_ enough to blow up.

You thanked your mind for calling your distressed- roommate? Friend? Acquaintance?- a bottle of Soda and told it to shut the heck up, this is serious, focus.

You tried to figure out what you would need done for you when you freaked out.

But, uh, that didn’t help at all because frankly you were a fucking mess and you had no idea what someone should do in a situation like that for you, either.

You tried to think about what people _would_ do, but, in most of your experiences, anyone who tried to help always made it worse. Or at least, that’s what you thought; it always _felt_ worse.

Maybe you should just leave him alone?

No, that’s also a stupid idea. Honestly. Just leave him to fend for himself? Okay, no, he had Papyrus…

Papyrus has no idea what he’s doing either. It’s just like what he did with you- accept this time you’re on the coherent end of it. He keeps asking what’s wrong and how he can help and what he should fix.

You pull out your phone and try Google.

You literally type out “what to do when your friend has a panic attack” and put aside your weird friend-acquaintance anxiety for the sake shutting your brain up. Also, you think this is a panic attack? Maybe? Right? You don’t know, your use to _having_ them not _identifying_ them.

While you wait for your crappy internet to hurry up and load, you put your phone on the coffee table and shuffle down the hall. Unfortunately you forget about it almost immediately after putting it down as you try and figure stuff out on your own.

Papyrus is getting very loud and very freaked out.

“PAP.”

Papyrus jumps. Sans doesn’t even flinch. You figure he’s used to volume. Or maybe he’s just a zombie right now. Either way, Papyrus turns to you, looking at you down the hallway, surprised you’d actually yelled.

“Calm. Stay calm and chill.” You can’t imagine Papyrus freaking out will do Sans any favors.

Still pretty upset looking, Papyrus sits beside him and takes a breath to calm himself. “You will be okay, brother. You are safe here.” You come out of the hallway with the blanket from their room, unfolding the neat square Papyrus had folded it into this morning, you cover them both, extra aware of how close you get to Sans and making sure there is as much space as you can get between the two of you.

“You want anything? Sans?” you try carefully. “Some water? Food?”

He doesn’t respond and Papyrus’ resolve weakens beside him, the taller skeleton sinking into the back of the couch like a rock in a bath tub.

Your mind makes a sudden weird jump at the analogy.

Like, it’s basically a _quantum LEAP_ more than anything.

But it throws together a jumble of facts- his infinitely long showers, his reaction to creepy disgusting stranger’s goal, how upset he was about just not having a shirt on way back in the beginning, his random assertion that maybe he was here to be a sex toy (wow that gave you chills nonononope), just how not touchy he was in the same manner as you.

A million situations fly to mind with hundreds of small assumptions and you struggle to smother them because that- not even proven- epiphany doesn’t change anything at all about your current situation and doesn’t help in the least.

The situation is, you have an upset Sans and you need to try and let him understand he’s safe and okay but how the fuck do you do that?

You frown and carefully adjust the blanket around him as comfy as you can get it. Then you go to the kitchen and get a cup of water and leave that on the table that’s just within his reach next to the couch.

You climb up onto the couch on his other side, a safe distance away.

“You’re going to be okay Sans. I swear on my life, my heart, my soul, whatever the hell you want. I swear, as long as you live in my house, you aren’t property. N’ no one is gunna touch ya again. Not if I can help it, and you know I'm stubborn as fuck by now, doncha bone daddy?”

Silence. You sigh, soft and small, but it reaches to the pit of your lungs somehow.

The little warm light in you is burning; burning like Papyrus’ food. The flame is too hot.

It hurts.

“Please be okay, Sans.”

You stare across the living room, watching foreboding shadow people appear and vanish in the corner of your eyes until you fall asleep, thinking about the annoying static and just how much you want to protect Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am trying quite hard to keep up ahah but between moving and work it is fairly hard to keep up with writing and editing.


	36. Complacent Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the moment... its okay.

A warning label, to be applied to the Skeleton brothers.

 _They cuddle_.

 _Everything_.

Alright, it was pretty obvious they cuddled each other but.

Wow you didn’t expect to wake up the next morning within a pile of bones.

You almost didn’t react like a usual you would. Something about bones when said skeletons are asleep kinda felt more like inanimate objects.

Of course, as your sleep addled mind slowly registered the situation, you came to the understanding that you were not simply surrounded by bones but actual bodies.

Somehow it was very comfortable, too. Papyrus tall and lanky, spread over the couch. Your head on his ribcage and one of his arms around you. Sans more or less on top of you, one arm around your waist with his head on your belly. His other hand in a grip on Papyrus’ shirt just like Papyrus’ other hand gripping the hood of Sans jacket, like they wouldn’t let go of one another even in sleep.

As um, sweet as it was that they’d kinda dragged you into this cuddle and included you, immediately you tensed upon realization and had to struggle not to kick your way free.

Sans makes a muttered grunting sound in reaction to your tensing and you come to another realization that he is, in fact, awake and is in this position of his own choice when his head raised enough to look at you without taking its weight off your stomach. Luckily, skulls are apparently not that heavy, maybe even less than a normal head since its only the bone portion…

Your eyes meet his bleary looking pupils. It’s already morning the next day but he looks exhausted still. You wonder if he slept at all or if he just joined the cuddle pile for the snuggle factor.

“y’ wan’up?” he slurs tiredly in a whisper. His arms tighten subtly.

You have every god damn reason in the world to say yes. You have to go to work, bones shouldn’t be comfortable (but they are and that’s weird), you are supremely not okay with this much contact or being boxed in, you’re confused and can’t figure out why Sans would even want to _look_ at you after yesterday.

For whatever reason though, your muscles unwind and the stiffness softens when he asks. Taking a slow breath to relax, you answer him by shaking you head lightly, looking back up at the ceiling.

His weight shifts onto his hands as he leans up, the crawls forward a bit. He looks down at your face. You can feel his conscious effort of keeping his weight off of you and touching you as little as possible.

“y’sure ‘bout that?”

That warm feeling smacks into you, and you hadn’t realized how cold and numb you were the first time you gave your okay.

You looked down at Sans.

“Are _you_?”

He was, after all, the one who’d just had the episode with the iffy back story and had been fronted with the thought that maybe you were trying to _fucking sell him and his little brother_.

He smirked at you slightly and you both chuckled quietly.

Okay. This was weird.

He laid down again, his head resting on your midsection, and cautiously he lets his limbs go at rest where they will against you.

You sigh a deep breath and just as careful, one of you arms wraps around him to keep him there, loose. He stiffens just a little, so you stay loose. “Okay?”

“okay.” He mumbles back, and you feel his stiffness soften too, and you tighten just a little more, snug, as his head shifts and nuzzles in like you’re a pillow.

This is the first time you can ever remember snuggling before in your life.

You feel warm as you grab the blanket from before and throw it over everyone.

“Sans?”

There’s a quiet exhale, like an attempt to hum a response but just didn’t make the proper sound.

“I…” you start, and stop. “I’ve never done this before. Snuggling. All that.”

He makes a tiny snort. “I could tell.”

Well what the hell does that mean? Are you doing it wrong??

“Ya aint the touchy type, after all.”

Oh. Riiiight.

Heh.

“Why do you do it? so much? With pap?” you ask quietly.

“Monsters are just like humans… we need contact, too. Mentally. All that.”

If people need it so bad, maybe that explains why, mentally, you’re a fucking nightmare.

“And, holding pap, I know he’s safe. Nothing bad is happening while I'm holding him.”

Your arms almost unconsciously tighten.

Sans chuckles. “Is that so?”

You look down at him, not… sure what he means, not even noticing you’d moved. “uh?”

“n’thin.”

“That wasn’t cryptic as fuck at all.”

“Neither is everything about _you_.” He shoots back sarcastically.

You both chuckle almost silently again.

“Ya know what we could do to fix that issue?” you prompt quietly.

“Hm?”

“let’s just answer questions. Right now.”

“I have too many.” He yawns, but his eyes open a little wider.

“Than one. We’ll ask each other one for now. And we answer until the other is satisfied.”

“Technically you’ve already asked me one.” He points out with a smirk.

_Why do you cuddle so much?_

“Fine, then _you_ just ask me.”

Honestly, that was fair. You’d asked the brothers many questions. They rarely asked one back deeper that ‘what’s your usual coffee’ seeing as you order it all the time. And, besides. He seems to have finally given you the benefit of the doubt. I mean, hes not pinning you to a fridge again and screaming that you tried to sell him. so… that’s enough for you. you’ll just answer his question.

Sans hums quietly.

He’s sorting through his questions, so you give him a second, watching the room. A shadow vanishes as your eyes roam past the hall way.

After a few seconds of silence, Sans finally asks in the softest you’d ever heard his voice, “Who did it to _you_?”

Somehow, you understand his question better than you should, considering how he worded it so vaguely.

You stare up at the ceiling, feeling ice cold hardness trickle into your fingers and toes, and slowly seep up your limbs into you. the snow white of the ceiling glistens with the reflecting lights of blue and red. Blood sprays over it and the warmth of the life’s fluid steams in contact with the frozen water flakes.

You look down when Sans’ arms tighten against you. like an anchor, the flashing red and blue lights reflection off the bone of his skull fade.

“Sometimes.” You murmur quietly. You can’t meet his eyes, so your head turns to the side. You feel hollow and disgusting. “Bad family ruins the whole family.”

You get a small flash back to that bus ride when you’d answered that to Papyrus.

Sans’ arms tighten again. The firmness and pressure feels… oddly reassuring.

“Kid self’s imagination…” he mutters, confused.

Ah. He remembers it just as well.

“You were… _just a kid._ ”

You shrug underneath him- which is kinda awkward considering your wedged between two bone bodies.

Silence follows. It doesn’t end, Sans just burrows in deeper- into your, uh, boobs… Whatever- and you hug him tighter.

You fall asleep there. You think, in the last moments of your slightest consciousness, Sans is saying something…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psychology annoys me because when i dont do the predictable or the expected or the blunt average for the character im always worried people will think im not doing the trauma justice


	37. Worse Than Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> where the struggle lies, aka, some reader backstory.

There was a cracker half stuffed into your mouth and a bowl of chicken soup next to your laptop as your fingers tittered away over keys with rapid clicking and clacking.

Sans was busy trying to explain a resume to Papyrus and showing him yours- he’d started with just the intention of showing the tall skeleton all the various shit you’d done over the years and all the stuff you apparently learned.

And then Papyrus asked you, “HUMAN! If you have so many skills, why exactly do you struggle so much?”

“Better question is where the hell did all your money go?” Sans muttered.

Your hands slowly dragged to a slow on the keys and you frowned around your cracker.

You took the bite and ate that before looking over your shoulder at them.

“one: I don’t work well with _people_ , I can’t follow company policies, I can’t focus on large handed tasks, my group dynamics are shit, my behavior is irrational, I should consider seeking better options, etc.” a spoon full of soup broth, and then, “two: I don’t understand the question.”

Sans shifted around to look at all the papers. “If you could afford an apartment of this size with no one else here, if you worked so much and made so much, where did all the money go? Before us? All that work adds up to money. And you’ve had _jobs_. Many. All of these places on this list. And you had to be able to afford taking these classes.”

You ‘ah’ed.

“Firstly, no, I never could afford those classes. My mother is- rather, was- a major board member at the city University. I have many ‘friends’ there, they give me access to the classes online for free. I like to learn, it’s… a hobby? I’ve been taking things since I was in high school. They never cut me off when my mother retired, so I still take classes- or, did. I haven’t had the time since, uh.”

Well, since Sans.

“Secondly. For about three or four years, all the extra money I saved up went to funding my sister’s sex reassignment surgery. All other money went into a bank account after those years and my mother retired around then. All the money in the bank pays the debts she and my--” Pause. “She racked up in payments. I can’t afford to take money out of that bank, only put more in, or the debt collectors will be on our asses. Loan sharks don’t play nice, either.” your perhaps a little blunter than normal with Papyrus today; you’re a touch irritated. There’s a steady static in your ears and you can’t get them to pop. It’s been annoying as hell all day.

“Then where precisely is your mother? And your father for that matter? Why do they not assist you if things are surely so difficult!” Papyrus proclaims, astonished.

“Don’t really know, pappy.” You say mildly. You close your laptop slowly. You won’t get any more work done as long as this is happening. “Sure that mama dearest is off making someone else’s life hell.” Probably the bunny woman’s.

“And your father?” Papyrus huffs, clearly confused by your answer about your mom and what that means.

“Don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a father, silly human. Genetically speaking, for you humans, at least! You cannot recreate yourself like moldsmals!”

“Maybe I'm not human then.”

“Come on, human! Where are your parents?! They should be paying for you and assisting you and-”

“uh, bro, I think that’s enough.” Sans puts forward, sitting a bit straighter than before. He’s sweating.

“Sans, brother! I cannot believe you, this is important, for the sake of our human! The amazing Papyrus is an expert in familial ties, seeing as I am of course the most amazing brother to ever exist, I'm sure I can unite out human with their family despite their stubborn-”

“ _Sometimes._ ” You cut in, still back to him. “People aren’t what you need them to be, Papyrus. Sometimes your mother isn’t a mom. Sometimes, you don’t have anyone at all. _Sometimes_. Kids turn out bent, crooked, wrong. _Sometimes._ People are twisted. _Sometimes_. Things happen.”

You stand up. And turn to meet Papyrus’ eye. He’s watching you, and there’s a low anger growing in you, somewhere deep. It’s been too much. Your little heart to heart bit with Sans a day ago dredging up this exact bull shit, Papyrus layering it in with his ‘there’s no such thing as a bad family’ bull shit, and even _more_ bullshit, just asking so many questions like he knows _anything_ , it was infuriating. “ _Sometimes_ , people…”

You stop. A dirty feeling draws on you, and the fire is swallowed steadily by cold. Cold, hard stone, like lava hardening. Your ears finally lose the static fuzzy deafness, though. joy.

“Sometimes, pap. People turn into something even worse than _human_.”

You need to get out of here.

Your shower is almost longer than Sans’ showers tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not dead i swear.
> 
> just falling down the hole of life.


	38. Progression Procession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> take a step forward, hope not for two back.

Much to your bafflement… you have an actual job offer.

The whole house jumps when you give out an excited squeal.

How out of character.

You can practically feel the confused stares and the boiling of questions.

You beat anyone to it. “AYE, MOTHERFUCKERS! GUESS WHICH MISERABLE HUMAN HAS A REAL DAMN JOB! Uh… hopefully! ME, MY FAVORITE BONE BROS! IT ME!”

A higher class restaurant about half a mile from here received your resume and is offering and interview to work as the new Human Resources Manager.

You waist zero time and quickly dive into a response email, trying not to let the building squeal out of you, like a kettle with pressure steadily building.

Sans is suddenly in the seat at the bar next to you. You were certain he was in the living room .003 seconds ago. Sneaky fuck.

“Another for the endless list, or you gunna try and keep it?”

“I always try to keep them, fuck face.”

Okay, maybe that was too biting.

“Take it that’s a raw nerve for ya?”

“…yeah, sorry.”

Click-clack-click-click-clack-click-clack fills the silence as you type.

You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to hold this conversation? You think by now he’d of come to the idea that you weren’t really _social_.

“You could always just _rent us._ ”

Silence intensifies. You shoot him the nastiest glare you’ve probably ever made, excluding that one you gave to old man guy way back when you first met Sans.

Sans doesn’t even flinch and meets your stare head on. You have the urge to punch his face very hard.

“OH! Human!” ah, thank god. Papyrus, destroyer of semi-awkward, slightly volatile silences. You go back to typing as he continues.

“If you are going to get a larger job in a ditch effort to maintain enough money to care for three individuals, then perhaps I may inquire about getting the Great Papyrus an actual job so that he may assist you!”

Your hands freeze mid type.

Your chair swivels a 180 to face Papyrus- you note he is also glaring at Sans for his earlier comment, who is ignoring it pointedly. “You don’t have to work, Pap. You know that.”

Papyrus turns to you, beaming. “Perhaps not have to! But, perhaps it will be better if I do, anyway!”

You frown. “Honestly, pap. You don’t have to work at all. I'm going to do my best, I promise.”

“HUMAN.” Papyrus says firmly, and then sighs. “I understand you are doing your best! Honestly no human nor monster could watch you for a day and say you aren’t working so very hard! But- I can help! I am able bodied! I can assist you in the making of money so that it will not be so incredibly difficult on you!”

Your lips purse together for a moment.

“Look, Papyrus. You- and, Sans- you’ve both had to do a lot of work for humans. Doing shit you probably didn’t get payed for that you probably didn’t want to do and didn’t have a choice. I'm not going to have either of you in that same place doing it for me.”

“Human, you are not!” Papyrus stood up abruptly. “You are like no other human I have been with thus far. That aside, the great Papyrus _wants_ to help! You are not making me do anything! I wish to help our life style! If we all worked, things could get better for everyone; 3 people supporting the all instead of 1!”

“Ya know, bud, Paps aint stretching it far.” You look to Sans, surprised. His hand scratched his neck awkwardly, “Look, so far, ya aint like any of our… previous humans. And there aint nothing wrong with maybe letting us help out.”

You stare at him.

“Are you _actually_ volunteering to _work_ , Sans.”

Sans chuckled. “Even a lazybones like me has its skills. Frankly, I'm bone weary of watching you tank it over the cash aspect.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process this during Papyrus’ subsequent complaints about punnery.

“Okay. So you both _want_ to work. If I found you work, you would both be okay taking said work, of your own desire?”

“VERY MUCH! No offense, human, but your home is rather boring! I have cleaned this place too many times today!”

You chuckled.

“O-okay.” You take a thoughtful second of consideration. “Ill work on my application… Then, you two will help me write out skills and experience… and ill find you both a job you want.”

They both seemed satisfied.

“Just- if either of you _ever_ want to- _not_ work. You both tell me. I’ll write you out of work. Okay? For the day, or if you want to quit permanently, or if the job isn’t safe! Okay?”

Sans is grinning at you crookedly and Papyrus is smiling huge. For some reason you find yourself flushing the slightest bit and turn around back your lap top with a mumble. They both giggle.


	39. Hallucino G enic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shadow people are a common hallucination for humans to have. They usually appear as a result of sleep deprivation, psychoactive substancess, or hypnagogic states. During this experience, the subject perceives a patch of shadow in their peripheral vision to be a living figure. This can be either animal-like or humanoid in appearance. This hallucination is often accompanied with a feeling of intense paranoia and anxiety. The visual hallucinations are initially fleeting images always out of the corner of the eyes. As time progresses, however, the hallucinations may appear in full view and one will be able to look directly at them. The bodies of the shadow people are usually entirely black with few features. They sometimes appear to have faces and are able to move or change shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many people theorize that the conjuring of Shadow People is the brains attempt to provide a real reason for the paranoia and anxiety it experiences from disorders, trying to tell ones self that there is in fact a valid reason they feel this way, while others theorize that the shadow people are embodiments of spirits that cause the disorders of depression or anxiety or paranoia, or ghosts which feed off the negativity of people with such disorders.

Your excuse for this, is, you must be hallucinating.

Honest to goodness.

Maybe its lack of sleep and proper meal, maybe it’s the long work hours, maybe it’s the stress, maybe it’s built up repressed trauma, maybe you’ve got some funky fresh illness of the brain. Hell, maybe your even dying or having a stroke.

But this isn’t real.

 _That_ isn’t real.

At first, it’s just an irritable feeling of static in your ears; you wake up with it that morning, soft, barely noticeable, but by the time you’re out of the shower that morning, it’s tripled itself in volume- or in lack of volume? You don’t really hear anything, it’s like an absence of sound. But still a buzz?

Its best described as static, because you don’t really have a description for it.

You go the rest of the morning trying to pop your ears, maybe it’s that bull shit like when you’re in an airplane or driving up a mountain. Just gotta equalize the pressure.

Doesn’t help, and Papyrus is chuckling at you the whole time. He thinks the faces you make is funny. Sans just chuckles and ya know he’s mentally judging you for being weird. fucker.

You try to explain the feeling but, well, as a pair of skeletons who have neither ears nor ear drums, they don’t get it and chalk it up to a ‘weird human thing’.

The sound only gets worse and stronger down the elevator and out the lobby.

You’re lagging just a bit, so when you look up, Sans and Papyrus are ahead of you.

Your vision flickers and you… catch a glimpse. Like a flicker. A single frame in a 100-page animation sequence. It was there but you didn’t catch it. Or, you did, but there’s no way to figure it out.

It was big and black and. Spooky. Hovering next to Sans on his left.

Like those fun little things you see in the occasional sleep paralysis you get here and there or when you’re feeling especially spooked or watched a bad horror movie and the corners of the room suddenly have shadowy figures, or on those days when your anxiety is juuust bad enough.

Spec-fucking-tacular, you were not looking forward to being a paranoid fuck with fucked up hearing all day. Shadow people. Huh.

You don’t mention it- it’ll just be another thing they won’t get, like every other fucked up detail about you. Papyrus will probably declare he will find your shadowy stalker or something and fight it. The Mighty Papyrus can defeat any foe, even non-existent ones. Or, incorporeal ones? If its in your head, its kinda real, aint it? it’s just not really there. Uh.

Thinking about it makes you tense. You ignore it, suffering through the numbing buzz, and keep about your day, if a touch slower.

You’re on the bus and. Bam.

Maybe 5 pages of the animation reel that time.

Standing right over you.

Your paranoid little shadows in the corner do not stand that close to you, they never have, not even in most of your worst episodes when you were a kid. They’re behind things, in corners, and in the sparse really bad moments they DID approach you, they were shrouded and undetailed, unrefined, something was off about them that looking back just bluntly told you, when looking back (in the moment not so much) “not real”.

That was _towering_ over you, right in front of you.

Like something real. Something- _almost_ corporeal.

As soon as you register it, but, before your mind can react when it’s finished processing the images, _click click click click click click click click._ Some weird combination of the sound of typing on a key board, chitters of some animal, tapping on glass, and a mouse clicking.

It cuts right through the static like it’s not even there. It’s probably no louder than that of Sans’ voice when he’s talking, but the effect of going over the static, the ‘lack’ makes it as loud as an excited Papyrus- but right in your head, echoing off your skull like a hollow cave.

Your response is a low grunt and a squint, one hand shooting up to cup an aching ear, the other squeeeeezing the arm rest with whitening knuckles.

The sound intensifies for a moment and it _hurts_ -

“You okay?” the sound of Sans in the seat across the bus walkway is like a knife that severs the sound. The static cuts off and so does the sound reel.

You squint up at him, he’s watching you with a raised brow. Brow bone. Uh. Whatever.

“…yeah. migraine.” It’s not the first one you’ve had since he was around so he just nods and leans back in his chair again. You rub your temples, and refuse to look directly at or even acknowledge the massive, tall black shadow that’s right behind him.

You know it’s looking at you.

But you know it’s not real.

You’re just hallucinating.

This is just like when you were younger. The black creatures, no details, in the corner of your eye or around the corner or in the halls.

Just… hallucinations.

You tell yourself this, over and over.

But its different… sometimes.

There had never been static when you were young…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fun part is differentiating between plot and reader's personality and mentality, am i right? yall miss a lot more hints at things to come than you actually think. or, so i can tell from the comments. so shoot me more of those, i love your theories.


	40. _ Regression _ Progression _

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For better, or for worse?

Your job interview goes SPECTACULAR!

Its so great, that when you bust down the door, you tell the house just so:

“MY INTERVIEW WENT GREAT!”

Papyrus is, of course, at the door immediately.

“HUMAN! WELCOME BACK, DID YOU GET A JOB??”

“You guys might want to tone it d-”

Sans is interrupted by banging coming from the ceiling above you, and a muffled “shut the hell up!”.

You grab the nearest long object- a broom from Papyrus’ hands, he’d been cleaning again it seemed- and bang right back. “SHUT UP YOURSELF, MR TERRY! I GOT A FUCKING JOB AND I'M HAPPY!”

You get several stomps back, “CONGRATULATIONS! NOW BE QUIET!”

You bang back, “YOU GOT IT!” and drop your broom, and just start laughing. You haven’t been so motivated in a long while. “Alright, boys, get dressed. I’ll take us out for dinner tonight! Celebration! And we’ll talk about what you guys have worked up so far for your jobs.”

Papyrus almost squeals, darting to their shared bedroom, saying something about getting to use his new date clothes. Papyrus is adorable.

Sans just flops on the couch. Looks like he’ll just be going in his shorts and T-shirt. he’s not wearing a white one, surprisingly.

It’s a T-shirt, of course, but it’s the one you got with that science cat meme on it. It has a pun. No wonder he liked it. “You’re a 10? Maybe on the PH scale, because you’re basic.”

Okay, you have to admit, you kinda like that one, too. He’s also got his jacket, and after he plops down, he starts to switch his slippers for his sneakers which emerge from under the couch.

You’re already dressed from the interview, but swing into your room to ditch the work blazer. The white button up and black slacks are fine. You trade your good shoes for sneakers.

You spend more time brushing your hair more for the fact of just waiting, until the sound of Papyrus knocking excitedly at your door tells you everyone is set to go.

Since its night time, and since your especially paranoid ever since the mugging incident, the last thing you do is slip a knife into place, held against your waist by the elastic of your underwear and the pressure of your belt. You practice pulling it out quick. You don’t leave the house without it much anymore, even with the magic brothers with you. you hadn’t taken it to the job interview, out of- you don’t know, worry they’d inspect you as part of the interview? Bizarre, farfetched, you knew that. But you really wanted this job. You didn’t wanna get caught out as a psycho with a knife, ya know? It’s been stressful not having it, so you practice with it a bit to calm down, feeling better now that you had it, and could pull it from the elastic with ease. Though, you probably would be more in a hurry realistically, and would probably cut through the elastic waist.

You took two with you when you went out alone at night, as well as a screamer you bought online. You weren’t sure the personal alarm device would really do all that much, but, it was better to try it first than the knives if something happened.

The knives made you feel safer and stronger, and you knew how to use them- you’d taken a few personal safety training seminars when you were younger at the college when you used to have time- but that wasn’t to say you wanted to. The thought of blood on your hands, sticky between your fingers, dripping off your rugged nails to melt the freezing, numb snow. You didn’t want to use the weapons if you didn’t have to, of course. That’s only logical.

And hey, you wouldn’t even have to go out at night if this job stuck, after all! The possibility, along with the rare strain of motivation and optimism from such a good interview, calms the frantic beating of your heart and gets you up above the water again.

You slide the knife back to its place- or, start to. The blade presses to your flesh and you stop. You don’t move it.

For several, long seconds, you look at the way your skin bends and molds, around the edge.

Something in your head moves- like a small ball, slowly rolling down a very shallow incline, not faster than a snails pace, but determined in its downward roll to desence a slope, goded by an unseen force- metaphorically, gravity, realistically, something else. Something undescribeable.

You roll your wrist forward, rolling the edge of the blade up until it’s the tip at your hip, applying the same amount of pressure. The narrower surface makes it easier to prick the surface.

A thin dot of blood builds around the tip of the blade, a light cherry color.

Slowly, the sme pace as the ball down the hill, it slides down the skin of your hip as you, too, slide- the ball is sliding down the hill, and the tip slides deeper- still so very slow, too slow, sinking into skin deeper as your head sinks deeper into the water you’d just pulled from. Theres water at the bottom of the incline slope. The ball is heavy, it slowly inches under it. sinking under and the blade does skin, one serrated tip, two, three…

You pull it out. You wipe the tip on your black jeans’ waist hem, and find a black sock. You ball it up and stick it between your hip and your pants for pressure on the injury after wiping up the larger than it had been bloody mess. You put the knife on your opposite hip, now, and it holds a little firmer from the extra thickness between you and the wadded sock. you pull your shirt down.

Then.

You open the door to an excited Papyrus- in a shirt that didn’t _used_ to be a crop top but has been edited to be so, with a skull and cross bones on the chest. The shorts he’s wearing weren’t _that_ short when you’d bought them, but at least he has leggings? Said leggings are hemmed to be much thinner than a human could probably ever wear but look pretty good on his bone thin legs.

“Wow, pap, you look _smokin_ ’.”

The color of orange on his face is precious and he turns around, yelling to Sans so he can tell his brother how great his date clothes are. You laugh as he goes, since the back of his shirt is revealed to say “cool dude”. There’s an exclamation point dotted with a heart, too.

Precious. You think its sharpie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> progression   
> ..regression
> 
> whats the difference but two letters and 'opposite' directions?  
> which way is it, ya think?


	41. Scout's Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Registration: #2864305

Since monsters aren’t really… considered people, getting them work isn’t quite the easiest pinch. It’s not as simple as just getting them a job, like you would an unskilled teenager who hasn’t worked. And it’s fairly hard to get a monster a job that isn’t, essentially, hard labor; special skilled jobs and getting a monster into one is almost more trouble than it’s worth, so most don’t go the extra lengths.

Monsters, already registered, have to be re-evaluated for a skill set and registered capable. It’s sort of like a diploma or degree, on a slave level. You know how to do that part, seeing as Apollo had to ‘Register’ Grillby capable of handling both edible foods and alcohols for humans. If Apollo ever were to sell Grillby (god forbid), Grillby is essentially worth a lot more, because he’s certified for that special skill of handling food. Apollo got frequent offers from fancier restraints, unwilling to find a capable monster and register them, to buy and employ Grillby at their establishments.

You spend lunch at Solar’s, talking with Apollo about skill certification at a table while Sans and Papyrus chatter at the bar, occasionally Grillby moving from work to be with them when he can spare the minute.

You hadn’t really gone into either brother’s files before, since it seemed more like an invasion of privacy; not even to find out someone’s name, seeing how many months it had taken to learn Sans’. Moving the information to binders had been the most in depth you’d delved into them, and that was only so you could put it into rings. Because of that, the whole thing was a disorganized mess left unsorted. You’d dared expend a little cash on some dividers so you can try to neaten up the files; you’d have to do a lot of legal shit to get the brothers into a job that wasn’t painfully taxing like mining or something equally movie-hardship-difficult, so neat records would be very helpful.

Which meant thumbing through the files and getting invasive.

You’d tried to talk to Sans and Papyrus about it before hand, and Papyrus had assured you that his history was an open book- after all, one day, they would probably make movies about The Great Papyrus’ life, so his story and past should be readily available. Or so he said. Sans, he didn’t really give you an answer, just shrugged and said to do whatever you had to do.

You’d personally decided you wouldn’t go too in depth.

Either way, you did have to be introduced to some of their information. You ended up seeing more of Grillby’s then you’d anticipated, too, seeing as Apollo helped you out on how to order things and used Grillby’s file as an example.

You finally figured out how you’d organize things, though it took some reading and digging around. Both brothers had lots of transfer of ownership papers, they weren’t ever kept for very long; you put them, chronologically, in the first tabs, notably the most thick tab in the binder by the end. You noted mildly that most of Sans’ papers of transfer were lacking in real authority. No notarizations or forms, no receipts, just scribbled information or notes.

Much like the one that transferred him to you; crazy old guys’ name scrawled as well as an assurance of transfer. You wondered how many times Sans ended up handed off like this. Spur of the moment trades. You felt guilty. You were one of those spur of the moment trades. You felt sick, welling in your gut.

There were also gaps- Sans just magically appeared with new owners, no transfers, and you could only wonder- and stop yourself from wondering- where he’d been in-between the names you DID have. Your gut only clenched tighter- well aware Sans had been to very well illegal areas of monster slavery, and the lack of record of some things just… made you feel a new brand of helpless of it, no trace of it having happened save for the damage that had been done and the memories of what happened.

You, at least, you had more than that.

If it really could be considered anything ‘more’, having…

Documentation, I guess?

Proof…

Proof that you kind of wish wasn’t there.

Maybe you could just truly pretend if there wasn’t proof stronger than the improvable and intangible…

Oh, your mind had wandered off. back to the topic at hand…

Papyrus had a much more legalized history. He had full transfer papers most of the time, with names and addresses and prices. He was more, say, _valued_. He’d been sold back more times than Sans, however. People didn’t keep Papyrus very long. You wondered if it was his personality, or maybe his volume, possibly his innocent and childish behavior that made him a less than wanted slave.

The next tab was for medical papers and sorts; Sans hadn’t been to the doctor’s office very often so his section was fairly thin- he’d only been taken twice before, apparently, and not to very competent doctors, seeing as the report and details on his health conditions and such weren’t really there until your paper; no one even seemed to have noticed his ‘HP’ issue was so low until you’d taken him. You can’t help but feel relieved Sans had survived this long. Papyrus had an even thinner section, he’d only been to see the doctor once and that had been with you. most of his owners hadn’t apparently owned him long enough to get to that part or weren’t legally required to, seeing as those who’d kept him longest were dealers and sellers.

There’s annual Surveys (not that you’d ever had the brothers sign up for a survey, but they were required to be re-taken every time a monster re-entered a selling or holding agency) for monster personality and sorts, and Issued Reports, in the next file. Sans has a couple violence reports; both on abusive owners he has been removed from, and 911 reports of Sans getting violent on his owners. Those ones never seem as bad as his owners got on him, though. The Surveys get the brothers various ratings.

You note Papyrus ranks highly in Magic Skill and most Physical Ratings, meanwhile Sans seems to underperform in everything…

However, looking at his Intelligence score being so horrendously _low_ , you understand all of that Survey shit is a sham on Sans probably not trying hard on whatever tests. You know he’s fucking smart. Either way, those surveys don’t help you pick jobs for either of them.

The next section… was supposed to be for skills, and other… ‘Pros and Worths’ as Apollo had worded it. You made the tabs for them both, but Sans doesn’t have a single registered skill or ability to put in this tab. Papyrus, meanwhile, has a paper about having been a Royal Guard In-Training in his files. You ask pap about it- he’s talked about it a lot, but you’re not sure quite what it entails for a skill type. Papyrus gives you a big long speech about hunting humans, puzzles, and training. You read the paper and find out it qualifies as both a Combat and Battle Skill. It qualifies Papyrus for, ironically, body-guard type jobs. That kind of amuses you. But you don’t think you’ll be able to find Papyrus an actual body guarding job, so it’s not really useful unless you signed up Papyrus for a military Draft- in which you’ll be mailed money monthly for Papyrus’ service to the country. Definitely not safe.

Everything gets shuffled neatly into tabs, but with the emptiness of registered skills, you can’t imagine what kind of jobs you can get the brothers outside of the unskilled labor, like which they (or, more so, _Papyrus_ ) did with you.

You talk with Apollo a lot about the process of registration. Apollo tells you there’s a government run website you can look at to see what skills the brothers have, and explains how the brothers would be put through a few tests and screenings to see if they qualify in that skill or ability. He event mentions that specific monster species can get special jobs or placements and certain skills. Different certifications cost different amounts for each test taken. He shows you Grillby’s certified papers for the Bartending and Food Service, and the latter had been more expensive, but the bartending one had been more difficult to approve considering the FDA’s concern of a fire monster handling alcohol.

Apollo headed off to work, and not too long later, you and the brothers head home after goodbyes to Grillby.

You pull the website up on the computer and sit on the couch, and the brothers sit around the living room.

“Okay, so. Skills.” You pause, “No, not skills. Give me just. General traits. What are you?”

“Skeletons?” Sans offered sarcastically.

You snort and half-seriously answer, “the only job that pops up is working as a test subject, bud.”

Not entirely true; Skeleton Monsters, classified as Undead Monster types, and as a Rare Class, were most suited to job offers of the sort that few monsters could do. Like, seeing as how they don’t need to breathe, one job in the list had been Deep Sea Diver. But as a Rare class, they were indeed most recommended to Test Subject / Study Subject, and similar jobs.

Sans snorts.  “No thanks.”

Papyrus raised in hand, much to your amusement, so you called his name. “Sans is smart?” he attempts.

You nod. You knew that, after all. “Alright, but, how smart.”

“OH! My brother was once a scientist!”

You type in science and see what comes up, and you get several types of certifications. “There’s a lot of science types. Man it’s kinda like girl scouts or something, getting badges. Uh. Okay. Like, different science specialties, let’s start with. There’s everything from Cosmetology to Robotics…”

This category is massive.

“Theoretical Science, and Hard Science.” Sans offers absently. “Chemistry, Physics, Astrophysics, Chronology, Cosmology, Ontology…”

“Hey, whoa, I don’t know what all of those mean.” You protest quickly.

After several minutes of Sans spelling each of those for you to search them, you find quite a few of the ones he’s saying. He lists more than the ones he said- he’s ‘dabbled’ in robotics and geology and crystals and all sorts. You write each one (with a definition) on a note book that you can find a skill for; adding the skill ID#, price, and ‘worth’ rating and ‘difficulty’ rating. You find several sciences Sans apparently knows his weight in.

“Anyway…” you rub your temple, a little perplexed by the sort of stuff Sans was into (like, Ontology, that’s the study of reality itself man. That’s heavy shit. Then the next second he’s talking about statistical mathematics and your brain hurts). “There’s both a General Intelligence test and IQ test, and depending how you score, you’ll get a different level skill badge for your girl scout uniform. You can do both of those for free, though, if we just sign up for the annual Survey, I think it says that’s coming up in a month… we can get you both to take that again.”

“Awh, I can’t Christmas tree it this year?” Sans looks smug.

You just snort. “Anyway, there are other general tests on here like the intelligence ones. How strong exactly is your magic, ya think?”

Sans just chuckled. “Even my special attack is nothing.” He’s laughing to himself like it’s a weird joke. You don’t get it. You don’t think you should, either. He’s just being weird.

“Heh, so, no magical skills?” you try, shaking your head at his amusement.

“None at all.”

The fucker is, somehow, suddenly sitting on the couch next to you. He hadn’t even moved. He’d been across the fucking living room.

You jump, of course, which only makes him laugh and Papyrus, who’s gotten up to clean around while you worked on Sans’ skills, starts to loudly chide.

“Ya dirty fuck.” You scowled.

“Watch your language, kiddo.”

“Fuck you. Too bad there aint a god damn ‘annoying bone fucker’ skill set.” you continue to scroll the ‘Special Skills’ skill list in the magic section. “There’s nothing on here for shortcuts, ass hat.” You shoot him a scowl, “or for being a butt face.”

“Butt face.” he snorts back, amused.

“Any other skills? Little things you can do? Hobbies?”

Sans crosses his arms, actually thinking it would seem, much to your relief.

“I can do some cooking. I managed the cash, back underground, so, finances and sorts I guess. The math is easy so, anything mathematical. I'm not incredibly used to your human computers but I could handle myself on the Undernet…”

You can see he’s got another one in him, but he’s not quite spitting it out. No less, you look into skills relating to math, money, and computers that Sans gives an OK to, and even a baking one he agrees to try, saying he can make a pretty mean pie thanks to an old friend. He says some other things too, here and there, like comedy, or sewing that he learned with Papyrus, a sentry job that may lead to something to Papyrus’ royal-guard-earned badges, running a couple small businesses underground, other things he just ‘does’.

When he’s out of other things though, you prompt if there’s anything else, maybe, just once more. To see if he’ll come out with it, whatever he’s not saying.

The funny thing is you can’t tell if he wants to say it but cant/wont, or if he DOESN’T want to say it at all. Sans is hard to read, but normally you can at least gauge that much.

You prompt him, just one more time, to give it out.

He asks to borrow the laptop, and skeptically you hand it over. You take the opportunity to get up and get a drink seeing as yours has gone empty since the start of the science category.

You can’t help but wonder what skill or experience he doesn’t want to say, or maybe does want to say and just won’t? You know there was Human Hunting in the underground, maybe he had something to do with that? Or, something unethical science-wise?

You come back after a few minutes and Sans has decidedly gone back across the room and pulled his hood over his face to take a nap, out like a light.

You huff, about to call Papyrus back for his turn, when the house-rocking sound of static makes the whole damn building sway underfoot.

Something massive and black stands over you, taller than even Papyrus, and its barely there for a moment but long enough to make itself registered to your eyes and half your brain, leaving the other half fried painfully; you sit heavily on the couch, so very dizzy.

You almost fall to the floor from the sudden loss of all senses other than vision, and you barely notice the figure comes back for several actual seconds, before vanishing. The whole time, in your ear, _click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click_ _click click click click click click click click--_

The notebook was on the table but it’s now sitting next to you on the couch. You can see Sans’ handwriting, another line- skill ID, no other information- and under that, a long stream of neat… doodles on the page in two lines.

As soon as you look at it, the click silences and the silence of the static vanishes, the buzzing of a city of electricity and Papyrus’ bones knocking around as he moves about to clean and the sound of the water running through the apartment as one of your neighbors takes a shower somewhere.

You’re dizzy and drowsy, now, as you stare at the lines and reality fades back into calmness. But the longer you stare, the less you understand.

The doodles are like a little kid’s secret code, and you figure Sans did it. After all, the line starts with a skull and cross bones, how comical for this skeleton joker. There’s so many symbols, squares and pointing hands and flags and snowflakes.

Your eyes trail up to the number, and you questioningly type it in the blank for IDs.

As soon as the Registration page loads you scribble the number out, and out of spite, scribble out whatever secret code Sans drew out, and get up to call Papyrus over for his turn, mentally fuming.

Registration: #2864305   
Legalized Monster Prostitution

Whether he had experience or skill in the area or not, _that was not happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear to god i intend to work on this all week i will get back on track and finish this before this fandom dies like medieval europeans with the black plague


	42. HangOuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enough cryptic foreshadowing and vauge posting- lets start an actual revelation arc.  
> time for a couple answers? then lets get right to the Abby Arc! short for now, but i'm writing, i swear!

It’d been a couple weeks since you’d put together the general plan of what the brothers would try to get registered in, skill wise. You’d quit most of your other jobs yesterday and you would be heading into your first day at work the day after tomorrow, Monday.

You had to wait a couple weeks to save up the money, and if everything went well signing up today, then tomorrow the brothers could come down to the City Department and get their tests and such done and done.

Today, though, you would have to go in and look like a professional ‘owner’ to have the best odds of getting the time table not being treated like a screw up. Unfortunately, regular owners don’t bring their monsters everywhere. Which is why the brothers would not be coming with to schedule and pay.

You’d offered them to stay home, and they’d been fine with it, until.

Well, your sister called last night. It had been brief and just asking a couple questions about how their mother’s debts were going since she hadn’t asked last time you two had met. Abby also contributed to the in-only bank account to pay off the debts, but Abby had virtually no contact with your mother. Not for several years.

Just as the call was about to end, Papyrus had leapt and puppy-eyed you to death before springing his request: “human, please, it’s so boring sitting around home, perhaps I can assist at your sibling’s coffee store?”

You’d been kind of surprised, but before you could answer, your sister has responded, having heard Papyrus through the phone. “Oh, my, is that one of the skeleton brothers? Ah, I think that would be marvelous, I would love to know him better.”

“Uh.” You just. Blinked.

“SANS! WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME WITH ME TO HAVE ‘THE HANG OUTS’ WITH THE HUMAN’S SISTER?” Papyrus had all but barked across the apartment in his excitement, despite Sans being literally right next to him on the couch.

“Sounds cool, bro. hehe.”

And that’s why you’re dropping off the skeleton brothers at the coffee shop, 6 in the morning.

Your sister is smiling away in that pretty way she does as you try to explain the papers you’re giving her are signed documentation that you left the brothers with her today and to use it in case there’s any issue, to please take care of them both, even writing out a few quick notes like a reminder that Sans only has 1 HP so don’t let him get hurt, and Papyrus is more comfortable at loud volume so if he can be, please let him be, and watch out for Sans and his practical jokes and Papyrus may burn down the building if you let him cook. You also practically threaten them to death if they’re mean to Abby to which Sans seems amused, and Papyrus, horrified at the thought.

Eventually, toting a bag full of any bullshit you’d need for you or either brother in terms of legal papers, you leave for the first time in a long while feeling like you missed people.

You can’t believe you’re getting this attached.

What do you even mean, getting?

You’re _already_ this attached.

You can’t tell if this is a good lemon or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i feel very bad about how slow i was to write this up and what ive got coming.
> 
> Ive been thinking too hard on stuff like 'what do other writer have that i dont'? and its been bumming me out in writing along side losing my flash drive a bit back. Just, ya know, other writers can inspire all these cool fanarts and fanworks and have so many hits and stuff. ive written fanfiction for years and i wonder why i never inspire anything from people. ive had 3 really nice people draw really cool stuff! yall are amazing, but i can't help but wonder if im just not at a very good writing level yet or if im shittier than i thought.


	43. Abigail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siblings

The skeleton brothers walked into the coffee shop with Abby.

They both quietly studied the tall woman as they followed her, and she was just as tall as Sans remembered. Taller than Papyrus, even, he might put her on par with Toriel.

Toriel and Abby kind of had the same vibe, to be honest. Big, gentle giants. Maternal. Feminine but no short of intimidation. It wasn’t _even_ intimidation, in a way… more like grace. Majesty.

He wondered if that meant Abby would make a good Queen. Oh, that would be _rich_. Hehe. Royalty puns. That would probably make you a Princess, right? Oh, the jokes he could make…

Your sister lead Sans and his brother past the counter- the cashier with a New Yorker ascent had been replaced by a somewhat burly man today- and further yet into the back room through the door. It was a kitchen that mildly reminded Sans of the time he’d seen Muffet’s kitchen- with significantly fewer spiders, put still fancy, sleek, clean, organized, and busy.

They walked on further, until Abby opened up another door with a window. “Abigail Monette” in fancy print letters, like he’d seen in Alphys’ animes on a principal’s door.

He couldn’t help feeling embarrassed when he and Papyrus both stopped for a little too long after you sister opened the door, obviously waiting for them to pass in first. A part of him raged that they’d become so… accustomed to this that they weren’t capable of expecting doors being held open for them. He put a little too much effort into walking quicker through the door- it wasn’t his nature, but, damn. Like hell he’d be an easy pet.

The room they entered into was a large office; the far wall, pushed against, was a stair case upward, and the rest of the room was amassed with papers, filing cabinets, a desk and computer. It was a neatness that mildly reminded Sans of the way you own home was; you and your sibling, if anything, shared a sense of organization type. It wasn’t quite messy or cluttered, but there was a lot of it, however organized it was.

Abby eventually started up the stairs, and Papyrus ambled up the narrow steps after her first, Sans following.

He hadn’t made it all the way up when Papyrus gave a screech of excitement, almost giving him a heart attack, and Sans proceeded to take the last steps two at a time.

He walked through the doorway and came out into a massive studio loft, with big ass windows looking down at the street a floor bellow. Well furnished, comfortable, neat.

Papyrus was mostly excited at the prospect of the massive puzzle, only partly started on the dining table. He’d run right passed Abby, leaning over to look at it in ‘all its glory’.

“HUMAN, YOU ARE ALSO THE CONCESOIER OF PUZZLRY, AS WELL AS THE COFFEE BEVERAGES AND PASTRIES??”

The tall woman smiled, like dealing with a young child, Sans could feel. In a sense, the same way she dealt with you, if not less… careful. With you, she handled you like a smaller child, made of thin glass. “I suppose. I quite enjoy a good puzzle, my son and daughter quite love helping me with them after school.”

“Kids?” Sans asked, a little surprised. They’d only just found out about you having siblings, but you had a niece and nephew too?

Abby’s smile turned to him, “oh, yes, darling. More a teenager for my son, though. He’s in high school. My daughter is just about to leave elementary.”

Sans didn’t… understand those words. She must have been able to tell from a blankness in his expression, as she reworded, “My son is 17 this month, and my daughter, 11.” He understood that better; though, Humans aged a bit differently than monsters. But he could grasp how human’s age, seeing it was fairly simple.

For monsters, age wasn’t so exact, there wasn’t quite a set scale of maturity for every age, like how Sans was pretty close to Papyrus in age, but only to a monster; to a human, however, Sans would appear a lot older, probably somewhere around the twenties or something, and Papyrus didn’t seem to be out of his teens to many, and others even put him in a child region. Monsters like Papyrus when it came to age and maturity were actually more common. Most monsters their age were still young- although Papyrus is a little younger in spirit than even most monsters close to their age. Monsters live longer, and their aging lasts quite a while. Sans always came across older for most of his life. He hadn’t really seemed young since being a baby bones.

If he remembered right, the last he’d seen of Frisk, they were 12, so he had a decent idea of the daughter’s age at the least. He could just recognize the son as ‘older’.

“WOULD YOU AND YOUR SON AND YOUR DAUGHTER MIND IF THE GREAT PAPYRUS ASSISTED YOU IN YOUR PUZZLE MAKING, AS, AFTER ALL, THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS THE BEST PUZZLER TO GRACE THE UNDERGROUND!”

Abby smiled cheerfully, “help yourself, darling. Do leave me the sky pieces, though, they’re my favorite part. Beautiful colors.”

Papyrus whooped cheerfully and busied himself away.

Sans took a little more time looking around the room, himself. High ceilings for most of the city buildings he’d been in. the floor was neat and new. The TV was just as large as everything else. The windows polished, like everything else. The kitchen across the dining room was updated as could be.

“You live well. A coffee shop does so good, huh?” He asked. He can’t imagine humans lived off coffee as much as they joked they did all the time. He’d come to think it like him and ketchup. Just something you like to have often, even if the humans made a lot of jokes about needing it every morning. Coffee wasn’t a thing in the underground, and at first he’d thought it was a type of hot chocolate. When he’d tasted it, hed had… quite a surprise.

But the longer he looked around the sleek, large apartment flat, he couldn’t help… feeling… peeved, his mood descending with each glance.

“Oh, well. While we’re certainly in the heart of the business center of the city and coffee sells well, that’s only my own passion, sweetheart.” Sans follows Abby as she enters the kitchen, sitting at a counter bar seat. It’s an actual bar on the other side in this spot. “I work mostly as a business woman myself, you see. Most of the building above us is used for my segment that works under me in CPS- that’d be Child Protective Services. I used to be a lawyer for the CPS, myself, but I'm more of a manger now, you can say.”

She makes a face for a moment, while Sans processes how… interesting it is she works for child services now considering what he knows- or, sort of knows, about you as most of its essentially a hypothesis still- before continuing. “Considering I work mostly for the lawyer’s divisions, its federally funded, but yet we get portions of case work profits too, so I do live nice, yes.”

“pretty nice, ‘specially compared to your sib.” He comments. While he’s aware he’s a little pissed, he surprises himself just a bit about just how bitter he is about that.

Abby pauses- she’s been opening a cabinets at the time, looking for something- and he gets the whiff of guilt off her. He can practically taste it. That’s how strong it is.

He’s already seen it a lot. Abby has a glint in her eye every time she looks at you. he knows its guilt. It’s the same damn way you look every time it crosses your god damn mind Grillby aint a bar tender up here anymore, every time you remember you accepted him as a fuckin bribe, every god damn time you remember bullshit like that. How do you forget shit like that?

He reins it in quickly and neatly as soon as Abby speaks again. “yes.” But that’s all she says about it.

The Majesty air has lost its power. She’s just a tired woman. A guilty one, too.

He waits for maybe some excuse. Or at least a reason. He doesn’t get one, which is a surprise. She just finally finds what she’s looking for, a plate of plastic-wrapped cookies, and slides them into what looks like a warming unit of some unknown sort to him and turns to look at him.

There’s a strange look in her eye. An acceptance. A guilty one but, no less, acceptance.

“So, Sans. How exactly is life with my sister these days?”

Sans doesn’t get a chance. Papyrus launches from his seat upward and almost leaps across the room at a chair beside his brother.

“The human is FANTASTIC! Messy, but fantastic! YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE HOW GOOD HER SPAGETTI CAKE IS! LASS-lass- lasag-na- lassagg na. lasagna. ITS FANTASTIC! And she is a mastery of the cooking style of PATIENCE! She could use a little more passion-”

Abby cracks a snort, and quickly covers her face, briefly horrified. Before anyone can attempt to call her on that little snip- not that they, as skeletons, really cared about the snorting noises some humans found embarrassing to be honest- she explains. “Passion is exactly what I wish my sister had.”

“Uh.” Sans can’t help interjecting, “She’s pretty passionate.”

Abby shrugs. “when it comes to making money, and maybe staying alive- or at least out of debt, I’ll attest, she’s got a little fire, but. My sister is…”

“the human is JUST LIKE SANS!” Papyrus slaps both his palms on the table leaning up in exasperation. “no matter how busy, they’re both just- LIKE THAT! ARENT THEY??”

Papyrus twists around and grabs Sans’ cheeks, rubbing his thumbs under his eye sockets and tilting Sans head uncomfortably. Sans chuckles.

“They would probably even LOOK the same! IF YOU HAD SKIN YOU’D HAVE THOSE BIG PUFFY BAGS, SANS! HOW ARE YOU SO TIRED WHEN YOU TAKE SO MANY NAPS?! HOW IS SHE SO TIRED BUT STILL RUNS AROUND LIKE THAT?? YOU TWO CONFUSE ME!” Papyrus huffs and lets him go, “at least the human still has a work ethic!”

“Ouch, bro, ouch.”

Abby can’t help but seem to agree. “Oh Papyrus you have no idea! My sister is so bad at that enthusiasm thing. I have no idea where she gets her sparks to do everything but- everything’s always been such a ‘drag’! I'm _surprised_ she isn’t more like your brother, so much work and not just half asleep all the time. To be honest my son’s kind of like that, too, but, that’s just him being lazy.”

“HAH! Sans is lazy, too, human sibling! Never does anything, wont clean, nothing! You’d be so-”

And Sans tunes out because. Oh. He gets it.

There’s a glimmer of observation in Abby’s eyes that he understands the sudden change in her mannerisms. The slow, calm air she had was replaced with a vigor and demeanor as soon as Papyrus started talking.

She’s definitely analyzing this conversation. He wonders what for, to be honest. She’s steering it pretty well.

How manipulative.

He comes to a figure he’s not sure how he feels about Abby. She’s that calculative type, he gets it now. She’s buisnessy in that way. She’s sort of like you. Calculative. Though Abby’s better at it. you, ya just think a little too much. Tangents. Abby’s more focused. Pinpoint. One thing at a time.

He’d like that, in a previous day and age. He doesn’t like humans like that now. Not in the least. Hates them. They’re users.

He doesn’t know how he feels about Abby right now.

He decisively- takes a nap. Let the two rant.

.

.

.

He’s not sure how long he’s been out, but Papyrus and Abby have moved to the table, they’re talking on still. They’ve got the cookies, too.

After a few seconds of foggily trying to listen to what they’re talking about, Sans almost laughs. Papyrus is hammering on about not understanding how a human ‘sex change’ works or why that it should be as expensive as it apparently is. Abby’s apparently tried to explain hormones- something Sans has found interesting to study about humans as he can manage since coming to the surface and before everything went to hell- but Papyrus can’t get past his own confusion about why being a girl or boy would matter at all beyond a pronoun. Skeletons aren’t really affected by that… at all, after all. Abby isn’t succeeding in getting past Papyrus’ lack of perception on gender roles.

Sans short cuts his way to a chair at Abby’s side, not that either of them notice until he reaches out to take a cookie. Your sister jumps and practically has a heart attack and Papyrus starts complaining immediately. He’d started to miss that reaction- you’d been getting numb to his surprises, not nearly as spooked anymore. “Sans, YOU LAZYBONES! You’ve been sleeping for hours! The whole point was to not do the boring routine and get to know the human’s family!”

“eh, I know all I need to.” Sans shrugs good humouredly.

Yeah, he does. Pretty much all your family is kinda shitty and leavin’ you to struggle. Douchebags. He doesn’t really care otherwise about them.

“Are you absolutely crazy, brother?! The human is so strange about their background, I can’t even ask them about it! This is the prime opportunity, and I, the great Papyrus, most amazing friend, must know more about my amazing human friend!”

“yeah. amazing.” He rolls his eyes in his skull. He wouldn’t really call _you_ amazing. Bitterness broils in a gut he doesn’t have.

But… he supposes pap could be right, if not… blunt. The only opportunity- that he knew of- to find a thing or too that he’s been wondering about out.

But why should he care?

He doesn’t. at all. Fuck that. He leans back in his chair and munches on his cookie.

Papyrus sighs. And shakes his head. “A LACK OF PASSION!”

Oh, Sans is passionate alright. Just in the opposite direction of is positive brother.

“What exactly do you want to know?” Abby seems more uncertain than she has been until now.

He hopes it’ll make her squirm.

He doesn’t like calculative humans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since ive been asked thrice for my tumblr, let me add it again in case anyone else is curious: @firemama at firemama.tumblr.com
> 
> also, im going to beg because i dont want to lose my will to write again, and as they are my best motivation: PLEASE COMMENT


	44. Morality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> manipulation and abuse can, like anything else, be less empirical and more abstractly conceptual and depends upon point of view.

Abby is a tough cookie to crack.

You can’t quite force people to tell a secret- not unless they have one of these lovely collars on, he reminds himself bitterly- and Abby is pretty difficult.

But after several long, pushy assurances from Papyrus that they would need something if they would be able to help you when you just……vanished into your mind and came back worse…

Abby finally relented.

“We’ll keep this brief, you hear me?” she sounds firm, in her strong business woman way. They both nod, Sans too when Abby looks at him pointedly. As much as he doesn’t want to, if he’s going to be here, he’s going to have to participate.

“Alright… what exactly do you want to know?”

Silence greets her.

The brothers look at each other, as neither of them is entirely sure how to answer. Sans can see Papyrus is drawing blanks and doesn’t know what to say to get to what he wants to know, and Sans… well, he has too many questions to pick one easily.

So, he decided to keep it broad, and go with what the human had, in a way, confirmed with him one strange and somewhat not-so-believable night of cuddling which he’s still unsure if he just imagined.

“there’s a saying she’s got. Bad Family ruins the Whole Family.” Sans held up his hand to hush Papyrus when his brother’s mouth open to comment on it again. “Where does that go, pal?”

He's not even sure if he can trust Abby to tell the truth. She’s proven herself to be manipulative, at least, so he thinks. And this probably isn’t something that you had gone through alone- bad family ruined the WHOLE family. Perhaps it was a trauma to Abby as well. Maybe Abby wouldnt even be mentally right on talking about it, maybe she had a strange fucked up view on it and her side wouldn’t be the same as yours. Maybe she wouldn’t even know. It was a long time ago, and Abby probably was nothing like she is now- not even a ‘She’. She was under a different name and gender, in a different kind of fucked up family then now, in a different situation, under a different viewpoint. She wasn’t Abby, then, she was a kid. Kids don’t see things the right way- their imaginations play with memories.

Maybe nothing Abby could say would be useful. Maybe none of it would even be correct.

But, for whatever reason, he was willing to see where this went.

Abby looked supremely uncomfortable about it almost immediately. He imagined anyone would be. There was nothing good about this story to tell.

“How much do you know about that already?”

“That she was a kid.” Sans responded plainly. To be honest, that is the only things he’s had affirmed, and knows factually.

Everything else is speculation, and as much as he’d tried not to, he’d speculated a lot. There were lots of clues, some pointing to certain things he wishes he didn’t understand so well, some to others. All of that was only speculation; no matter how much he’d thought about it and how assured he was by now.

His brother was looking around confused; Papyrus wasn’t sure what he’d missed, and though Papyrus wasn’t the most socially acclimated, he could tell how tense things were and that Abby wasn’t quite at ease talking about what Sans was pointing her to.

“Are you sure that is even the kind of thing you want to ask _me_?”

That response slightly slips him up. “oh?” he questions her, suspicious that she might just be trying to avoid it.

Abby looks up, and when her gaze settles on him, he feels…

Pierced. Like a long, metal dagger as just slot through his skull and shut him up. He feels guilty immediately, before she says what h suddenly knows she will.

“We both know my sister. And we both know she’s got more trust in you then I think she thinks herself.”

Oh. That isn’t what he expected, actually.

She continues no less, “Do you really want to hear it from someone else, or is she the one you should be asking? We both know, she trusts you. if you don’t know that, I cannot help thinking you’re a fool. We know she would answer you if you should know the answers you want.”

And that’s what he expected.

He knows that- and he knew it, somewhere, when he was asking her.

He knows you would tell him. You probably wouldn’t tell pap, he thinks. The way he’d shut you down, once, kind of seems like a signal that she wouldn’t. but there are moments that Sans can realize Abby is very, very correct.

You trust him, a lot.

He supposed that wasn’t incredibly strange. You’d spent most of your waking moments together for over a year now. Trust can be built over time- though, even he knows he hasn’t done a lot to earn that but by just not doing anything to _dis_ earn it.

But you trust him. You’ve already told him, confirmed to him, that something had happened. Your trust in him can go so far back, he thinks, yes. You trusted him for a very long time, from the first night you were sharing a home. While you’d locked your bedroom door, for safety, he knows you’d trusted him greatly, leaving him to his own will in your home, with everything you own in life, and spoken with him to an ease that other- _owners_ \- cant manage. Because they, no, do not trust things ‘below’ them. One does not trust a mosquito to not bite.

As much as that analogy pisses him off, because in most human perspectives he is the equivalent of an irritating _bug_ that can just be crushed if it steps out of line- that’s what it thinks of his entire _species_ , everyone he’s ever loved, and to a literal point, they’ve proved it correct. When they step out of line, monsters get _swatted_.

The longer he stares back at Abby and her powerful gaze, the easier he is to accept it.

She’s right.

Its cowardly, asking _Abby_. In a way, this thing- it’s against his own morals. If someone had done this to him- gone about behind his back to get information as sensitive as this about him from someone else when he’d himself trust them enough to tell them if they’d been up front…

Well, he’d be _furious._

And then, sitting back in his seat on the couch, looking up at the ceiling and zoning away, he asks himself: does he _care_ how you’d feel about it?

Whether or not you’d be upset or not, he knows he does care if you were angry, especially as angry as he’d be.

There’s a loud, anxious part of him that cares a _lot_ because he pushes his luck with you already. A LOT. It’s in his best interest not to royally piss off the person with the utmost control over his life. He’s learned that fact from dealing with a Resetting little anomaly. He knows, personally, that angry humans like revenge, too; and it’s very easy to get revenge on someone who’s under the beck and call of your every command.

He’s learned this very, very well and he’s not really looking to have to re-take the class from yet another…. owner.

But he’s not the kind of guy, apparently, who can behave and sit pretty. It’s not even being too lazy to be a model servant, it’s just a personality flaw, he doesn’t submit easy, even when he knows he’s frankly risking his life , and sometimes worse, being sarcastic and sharp tongued.

There’s another distant part of him that he tends to ignore- the moral part, like he just said, what he’d done by asking Abby crossed his morals, of its own action. But when it comes to doing things that make you upset- it crosses his morals, too. Logically, somewhere in his head. He knows you honestly- you really don’t do anything fucking wrong. A part of him with morals and kindness in it that’s somewhere in there cares whether he upsets you.

If it weren’t for you, who knows what hell hole he and his brother would be stuck in? The only time you’ve ever used the collars, he kind of had to agree with you and thought it was for the best; had Papyrus charged in and gotten in the way on that street stunt, where only your forced command probably could have stopped him, his brother would have been in for something harsh.

You were incredibly undeserving of a lot of the things he did, and a past him would scoff in disgust at the way he acts. He’s done a lot of shitty things out of bitterness, and in a certain way, fear.

He likes to make you feel guilty. When you feel guilty, you aren’t going to change and get used to the idea. The idea that you can tell them what to do. When you feel like shit about owning them, you aren’t going to hurt them. When you can barely stand yourself in your own eyes, you aren’t going to want to make him do- things. Things he really doesn’t want. or things Papyrus wouldn’t want- and if you ever did something like that to Papyrus, he’d _wrench your fucking neck—_

He knows he’s gone too far when you’re hunched over the sink trying not to throw up, or when he’s trying to bring you back from a panic attack on the kitchen floor, or the way that he’s turned the tables and he uses that guilt to hurt _you_ instead of just keeping you from hurting _them_ , cutting up your arms like that in the bathroom.

He lays off, then. He lays off when he realized he’s crossed that thresh hold.

He knows he’s gone much too far before. He knows that, like when he came out of the shower one evening and was panicking because you and Papyrus were behind a closed, lock door, and his head- it’s had panicked and reached to a wrong conclusion. He knew when he saw his brother in the door that nothing had happened- nothing like that- but- but he’d still been scared, he knew you were in there and that you could hear him. He needed to hurt you, hard, so you’d never hurt Papyrus. But he knew you wouldn’t, when his head was clear. When he was left standing in the hall with a clear head, holding his repaired jacket and Papyrus had given him a thoroughly disappointed, heart retching stare before walking away, he knew he’d gone too far.

The following days he had to stew, fighting his own head as he recognized he’d really hurt you. you wouldn’t talk to him, you avoided both of them, you didn’t even take them when you left the house. He warred with himself all hours of the day- bitterly telling himself you deserved it but knowing full well that you didn’t and that he’d really fucked up. You hadn’t deserved that, and when the cuts on your arms got deeper, and you stayed out at night longer, and when you drank stronger and stronger drinks in the bar, and when you slept less and ate less, he knew. He knew he’d gone way too fucking far that time.

He knows he’s gone way over his own moral line, more times than even that one occasion, so it’s- its painfully hypocritical to realize he’s always waiting for you to cross a moral line when you haven’t crossed any but the incredibly unfair ones that he’s drawn for you right at your feet. For god sakes he got mad at you when you _breathed_ wrong, sometimes.

And despite it all, despite the way he’s the manipulator, the one that’s making things so much harder than they honestly could be for you, somehow you still trust him.

God does he know you are fucked up without anything to do with him, or Papyrus, or the slavery you’re hung over to the point of physical sickness WITHOUT his bullying on top of it. He knows there is so much wrong with you. He knows he’s making it so much worse. But somehow you let him in on it.

Its… more casual then the way that sounds, but you do. You tell him shit. You lean on him, even. Not even in the way he’s afraid of. Not that you’ll use him to support you, financially, physically.

No, it’s always emotional. And it’s funny. It’s, abusively, funny. You come to them for support because they’re there, him and Paps. The only time you ever let them help- not really let, but have no choice but to accept- in anything with your life and situation, is when your little mental walls erode.

Abusively he’s the one eroding them. He’s cracking them with the force of the guilt, and bares this weird lost expression on a girl who has no idea what she wants in life or why everything is so difficult.

Amusingly, when your walls fall and bear that strange other you that’s within, he’s the one who ends up helping that other you stand up again.

When you can’t get off the floor because you’re hyperventilating, he counts you back down to oxygen. When you were crying in the morning on a complete lapse on mental capability he put you to bed again. When you were screaming and somewhat unconscious after a nightmare, he tucks you back in.

He does this out of guilt, the same thing he uses to keep you in line. Because, honestly, he knows it’s his fault. He’s pushing you too hard but he’s too afraid to stop. He’s far past his moral line and for the love of god you trusted him enough to let them spend that day with your sister like this, when family is something strange to you that you yourself have asked the brothers spacey questions trying to figure out how it even works. The trust that goes into letting them anywhere _near_ something that is so personal and ties into a past even you can barely comprehend yourself. There is so much physical trust.

He’s a coward, and he knows it. He realizes, suddenly, he needs to find his moral line again.

He’s not playing for survival anymore, not in your home. With you, he’s been alive, and he’s been nothing harmful.

It’s time to step back behind his moral line.

“No. I don’t want to ask you.”

If you can trust him, he can trust you enough to ask himself personally.

“But- I have something else to ask you. and yes, I want to ask _you._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an interesting new POV of the relationship between Reader and Sans from the skeleton himself.
> 
> remember folks: depression, trauma, and mental illnesses are NOT excuses to abuse or hurt others.


	45. The Lack Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans cannot perceive, in its entirety, nothingness.

The entire time in the office had been exhausting, but, you’d managed it. You had a slot set to bring the brothers in for major testing and certification in 6 days’ time from now.

You felt a bit accomplished, and yet nauseated, dealing with being a monster-owner for some several hours. The slots and the tests all cost a lot, too, and not all of their higher-qualifying tests were confirmed yet- the application fees for them had been costly and you won’t know for a week if they even qualify. It’s like applying to some shitty college. Luckily, you’d never had to do that.

Either way, you’d done everything you’d set out to do, and hopefully, Sans and Papyrus would have had an enjoyable time with Abby when you got there to them, after Abby had taken them home as she’d agreed to sometime around now, you think.

You wanted the night to wrap up. You wanted to get off the bus and pick up dinner from Solar’s, say hi to Grillby. Tell him the news, maybe get his input on how you should approach this working-monster-deal since he’d been through it a lot. Go home, share dinner, maybe hear a nice story about how their day was from Papyrus.

No fights, no unnecessary emotions or angst, no work out at night, just a calm wrap up to this tiring, busy day, and some easy sleep.

But you were only half way back to the coffee shop via the bus when it hit you.

The static had been lingering all day since you’d left the brothers with Abby and gotten on the bus. But all of the sudden, that’s all there was.

No city sounds, no bus sounds, no music from the kid playing his shitty music in front of you. all of it was gone in the nothingness- the lack of sound that was the static. Buzzing, but yet, nothing. Lack of. Like the buzzing was a negative volume.

And that was it. Nothing else. Only buzzing. Only nothing.

You could feel the bus pulling to a stop, but no loud screech and whistle of the airing breaks. People rise, but no shifting of feet, no shuffle of fabric, no clanks or bangs of luggage freed from the overhead storage. Sound has just stopped.

Looking around in confused, mild horror, is when you see him out the window.

Not a flickered image. Not a reel of an animation. Not a shadow in your peripheral. It doesn’t vanish when you locate it like it has for years since you were young, it isn’t just a slight blur, a black shadow.

Its- just. Him.

You don’t, for whatever reason, hesitate. You stand immediately and start forcing your way, in a rush, to get off the bus before it will leave this stop. You break the threshold onto the sidewalk, squeezing past others who leave in the opposite direct of him.

You’re in the park, but you barely notice the fact. It’s almost empty, and you would have notice that if you could hear the strange quite, of a city park. But the only thing in your ears is static.

Your head spins and you can’t find him, he no longer stands where he’d been.

You start running further into the park. You don’t know why, but you do. You trip and roll down a long hill. You keep running even though now your ankle hurts, and it feels like the earth is rolling under your feet, and your running on a wall, and then that your running upside down, like running in circles in a tunnel, floor, wall, upside down, wall, floor, and again. The underfoot is moving underneath you like shifting waves in an ocean, your vision is vibrating and shaking, and if you could hear, you would hear your breathing, frantic, loud, panicked.

Finally you stop and you search but you can’t see him, you can’t see anything. You can’t hear anything and all you see is the trees, and beyond, some unsettling nothing, like everything beyond your immediate surroundings, the hallucinogenic rippling glass and bending trees, no longer exits. There is nothing out there, a darkness too dark, a lacking of anything, even darkness itself.

And then. Something hits you on the back of the head, and suddenly the static- the absence- is gone. The sun is setting and its dark but its only Twighlight darkness, and had you been conscious, you’d realized how long youd been running around the park, somewhere around an hour, two maybe-

What hit you?

The butt of a gun.

You’re suddenly on the ground, the world still disorientingly rolling around you- not the hallucination, but the thrum of a migraine, your skull splitting and aching from the impacts of being hit, and then smacking against the ground, and something blurred is point down on you, its round and dark in the setting light of the sun.

Your pulse- fast from running already- spikes.

A gun.

You’re ears are too sensitive and the voice, angry and crass, yells at you. He wants your money.

You don’t have anything left after spending what you’d brought at the-

Your thoughts silence as a shot is fired into the ground next to you and you scream, covering your head. Your head hurts so very much. The overstimulation of such a loud noise after nothing at all. The ache of double impact. The disorientation twice over.

He demands it again or he’ll kill you, that’s what he says, you can barely hear it, your ears shocked from the thunderous sound of the bullet firing.

This time its pointed at you, you think he’s saying something about a last chance, but whatever part of you that still worked after- everything- its dissolving in a panic-fueled break down as the last time this happened fills what little space is left in your head, and you don’t have _anything to give_ \- and

Static.

_clickclickclickclickclick **clickclickclickclickCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK**_

Something else shatters the static- no, no, it doesn’t stop the static, it fills it. It fills the absence. Something within the nothing.

You sit there for hours and hours in your panic attack, long after the night has fallen, starring ahead. Your hands clasp the sides of your head, trembling. Hyperventilating, crying, and staring ahead.

The ground is black with scorch marks. The man with the gun is gone, burned up with all the grass in front of you.

Someone- something, is sitting next to you.

You sit there for so long that another man comes by. He tries to touch you to see if you’re okay. You panic and everything starts anew and your mind erupts in fear.

He’s a police officer, he says. He’ll help you, he says. You only know because you can read his lips. All there is- is static.

You try to run- he tries to stop you. Something long and black creeps up beside you from where it sits but rises to stand.

_Clickclickclickclickclick_

Its asking you what you want, and how you know that, you don’t know.

It asks you if you want him to get rid of this one, too.

You’re screaming no but you can’t hear yourself past the static, the lack of, so you shake your head as you try to fight the officer off your body.

You say as loud as you can, I want to go run, I want to run away. I want to go home.

_Clickclickclick_

The thing beside you touches you only a moment, and suddenly you aren’t there anymore.

You’re many ways away, half way across the city, one block from your sister’s café, two from home, in a shadowy alleyway. He’s still there, you know- you hear the static, still.

Then, it’s all gone.

No more static.

You are alone.

You run to safety.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay even though i pitched a fit and wrote up annoying deprecating tags that keep glitching and not letting me delete after i added them, i will not give up. 
> 
> so heres the next chapter i meant to give you all the day after the last one came out like i had promised before my, uh. break down. sorry folks.


	46. Direct Communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety is never purely a state of mind and can greatly affect the body. Sudden Symptoms include Sudden overwhelming fear Palpitations, Sweating, Trembling, Shortness of breath, Sense of choking, Chest pain, Nausea, Dizziness, A feeling of being detached from the world (derealization), Fear of dying, Numbness or tingling in the limbs or entire body, Chills or hot flushes. Long Term Symptoms can include many other disorders such as anorexia, depression, personality disorders, mood disorders, or physical disability.
> 
> Untreated Anxiety Disorders can cause massive internal physical damage as well as emotional and mental damages.

You get home that night and both Sans and Papyrus were already asleep- at least, you think so. They looked like it to the passing glance of a hysterical human who only stopped to triple check the door was locked, otherwise proceeding to run to their room and do the same with their bedroom door.

You didn’t remember going to sleep that night. But, no less, you woke up the next morning huddled under a mountain of blankets and hugging your pillow in a death grip, the room a dense atmosphere of lingering fear and a promise of danger in each corner beyond it. That morning was mostly full of Papyrus questioning you loudly about why you had taken so long, longer than you’d said you’d be.

He didn’t press it, not for long, but that wasn’t very surprising. You stayed out most nights, after all, and for whatever lucky reason Papyrus had never pushed on that topic like he does on most things.

Sans, however, that morning Sans was very weird.

There was a certain new… Something to his stare as he watched you get ready for the day, your last day of short change jobs before you’d head in for your first day working in the restaurants Human Resources tomorrow. You’d had a job like this before- you were an Assistant to the Manager then, however, and you’d be the actual Manager here.

Either way, Sans.

He watched you in a new manor, but, you couldn’t quite figure out what it was. You didn’t even notice it until you’d accidentally locked eyes with the skeleton man- something you tend to try and avoid normally, seeing as whenever you do, his pupils vanish and you get a distinct feeling of hate from the depth of his endless black orbits.

However, the white little lights bore back at you, and the stare is almost as overwhelming as when they vanish. You’re quick to break contact with it and go back to packing lunch for the day, but under the heavy feeling of his stare, the hairs on the back of your neck rise and it feels like ice is touching your skin. You really don’t need Sans to be like this today. Its already hard enough to function.

Your once again thankful for Papyrus being around as the commute to work would have been doubly dreadful had it just been you and Sans, but Papyrus happily chatters away about the topic of the minute- which turns out to be how he and Abby solved the spectacular human ‘jigsaw’ puzzle and discovered the secret image of swans flying over a log cabin at sunset.

Papyrus seems so into the whole thing that you make a note in your phone- you’ve started keeping a list of things to keep in your phone, things to get them if you ever need to cheer them up or something- especially Sans, still keeping what Grillby had told you about how keeping his happiness up would be good for his, uh, HP condition. Papyrus liking puzzles doesn’t seem very surprising; he did enjoy those connect the dots and color by number things in the kids coloring books you’d given him so long ago. He’d recently finished all of those.

You don’t bring up what happened yesterday. You aren’t _sure_ what happened yesterday. You don’t have _any idea_ what happened yesterday. Very few scraps of memory follow you from it- the smell of ash and burned char in the air and the feel of crinkled black bits of once-grass blades sticking to panic-sweat-soaked skin. The horrifying feeling of knowing that… someone… something… was there… and that you’d left the bus trying to find him.

You know you’d seen him, but- that part of your memory is fragmented. You remember, distinctly, looking at him out the bus window. That whole moment, looking at him, is the strongest memory you have from yesterday. You looked _directly_ at him. Stared at him. After that everything gets broken up and confusing. But that moment is pristine.

Which is why you know there’s something very wrong with it, because while it’s in perfect condition, you _can’t remember_ seeing him. What he looked like, what you saw, who it was, what it was.

It was there, but in your memory, it was like it was photoshopped out. Like you were staring at the air where he should have been.

It’s probably for the best you don’t remember him, or much of last night. What few fragments you have, that someone had had a gun, the burning smell, looking at him, running… it’s all laced with this horrific feeling of panic and incomprehension. You don’t want to know what happened. It all spells bad news.

Work glides by. It seems so much easier to get through it knowing it’s the last time you have to, but, you’ve lost jobs many times before. You make sure to leave each one with the impression you might come back, closing as few avenues as possible.

Papyrus spoils that twice, telling you that you won’t be coming back and you have a new job and your now ex-employers frown. You have to explain it to Papyrus, that you need the backup plan, so he stops announcing it at your jobs.

The whole day you get that distinct chilling feeling from Sans. He’s watching you close, and at some points like the lunch break where the three of you settle in an alley behind one of the jobs to munch on some apples, you get the distinct feeling he’s trying to talk to you about something but can’t quite do so just yet. At one point you get the feeling he’s trying to get you alone- which somewhat terrifies you, like you rent already anxious enough today.

The day’s mostly over at Solar’s and you’ve finished your fries without giving the burger a second glance let alone a bite (your stomach was in turmoil), watching Papyrus chatter exuberantly to a less than verbally responsive Grillby, when the familiar sound of tapping bones on the glass top of the bright orange bar counter catches on you.

You turn and Sans is standing at your side, tapping at the counter for your attention. The days of unwanted physical contact on either of you two’s parts seems to have mostly ended a couple months back, and every time he gets your attention or vice versa, you feel quite happy with that note. Sans had never liked to be touched, you didn’t want to touch him, and the same the other way around.

Sans stuffs his hands in his pockets when he has your attention and nudges his head in the direction of a two person empty table just a ways from the bar.

Your anxious body screams as it builds. But, no less, you do as he gestures.

The silence follows as you slip off your chair and follow him over to it, and take the seat opposite the one he sits in, tense to finally figure out what the weirdness about him today is.

This is strangely straight forward considering your bizarre relationship with the skeleton and both of your usually cryptic manners of dealing with one another, but you certainly aren’t complaining. You two can be way too indirect and that leads to a lot of misunderstandings.

He’s silent and looks rather uncomfortable for several moments, before he sighs and leans in on one of his elbows. “Alright, kid. Here it is, it’s this simple, alright? I’m apologizing for being a grade-A asshole.”

You stare at him. Beyond bewildered.

“You- uh. You’re apologizing?” he nods shortly. “That- that doesn’t seem like your style there, uh, bone daddy.”

Sans sighs longer, harder, and with much more exhaustion, slumping back down.

“Yeah. I know. I’ve, uh, look.” He sits up straight again. “You don’t really know me. Not like I was. Not the guy I was before all hell went down after- after all of this.” His hand gestures around in a general manor. “Thing is, I’ve, well, changed a lot over all this time and- actually, apologizing _is_ in my ‘style’. Not that you’d know that, cause I’ve been, like I said, Grade-A asshole material.”

Silence filters in again, and Sans looks down at the table, scratching at his skull. “Alright, kid. Just. I'm not the guy I’ve always been, alright? And at this point I'm kind of too tired to be the bitter guy, and I'm way too lazy for most of the bull I’ve been holding on to from all of- this.” He looks up again, and there’s an even, prompted frustration in his gaze. “I'm not like this, alright? I'm fucked up ill admit, and you know what that’s like- ya know?- just. I'm just trying to be- I dunno, better, now. Alright?”

Your staring and you’re kinda realizing that. You can’t really pull yourself from staring at him though. This is way more direct then you’d ever honestly expected. Like, ever.

You lean back in your chair a bit, forcing some stiffness out of your spine. “uh- listen, Sans.” you run a hand through your hair. Trying to form the right words. “I- I get what you mean, alright? Just. I kinda- well, I understand.” You tap a couple fingers on the table surface. “We- Humans, we kinda put you- everyone- through a lot of shit. We- we still do.” You finally stop staring and look down at the table. That gnawing guilt twists in your gut. You’re happy you didn’t eat that burger but your fries feel like too much inside you right now. “I just- I get it, alright?”

“Honestly kid, you don’t.” Sans said shortly. You don’t chance looking up at him. “You don’t really get the shit we- I- everyone’s been through. And you don’t get what I'm trying to tell you, either.”

You bite your lip. “I- I didn’t mean I understood- not like that. No, I don’t know what you’ve been through, not literally, and not in the manner that I can understand your pain, or that of anyone else. I mean, I understand…” you shift, since you don’t understand what you're trying to say, or how to say it. “I just get it, alright? Like- I get- I get what you said.”

Sans squinted. Then he sighed and you tried, then, to look up at him.

“Kid, you- you don’t.”

Silence followed. You stare but don’t look up any higher than his chest, and he kept his eyes shut.

“You don’t deserve the shit, alright?” You finally say, sitting up straighter, still staring at his chest. “You don’t deserve the shit I give you for… for being anything or any certain way, alright? I call you out like an asshole but you aren’t. I just- you- I don’t…” you set your head in your hands, rubbing your temples, fighting a sickening, swarming feeling of bile rising in your throat. The longer you talk, the more little hiccups and stutters start to interrupt you as the anxious feeling spreads from the muscle of your stomach to the rest of you, making your hands shake and your head swim. “You- You’ve been through a lot of shit. I'm- I’m sorry about all of it. I can be a real bitch over little things, and it- its not fair for you, for either of you. And I want to give both of you- all of you, I want to just- I want- I want to help. I want to make your lives better. And I do a really… really shit job and I know that. Alright? So I get it. I get why you’re… angry a lot. And you don’t like me- hate me- whatever. So I get it, ok? I wouldn’t- try and do anything, nothing, you wouldn’t want, and I don’t want you uncomfortable, I know you’re both such good people, I know I- I just- I can’t- I can’t fix it, all of this, there’s nothing I can really do. I'm really failing. I know that. I know you hate me for- for that, and for everything else, and I understand that. I wish Papyrus did too, most of the time. I just- I know- know I’ve- I’ve not- I haven’t- not good enough, nothing, but, I'm sorry.”

Sans stares at you, you can feel it even if you aren’t looking at him. Your face feels hot with a certain humiliation and shame, spreading over the bridge of your nose and under your eyes.

Silence surrounds the table.

For a long few moments you regret talking. You don’t know why you said so much. He just set such an… open honest atmosphere. But it was kinda stupid to say so much. You regret that. You wish you hadn’t said a word. You should have just shut up and let him say what he was going to say.

The longer you sit there, the worse you feel. That feeling gets worse and worse and finally you realize its not going to stop.

You bolt upright, suddenly, and the way Sans jumps you might have caught him off guard there. Using one hand for support, the other claps over your mouth. “I- be- gotta-” its rising.

You start a hasty turn to try and run for the bathroom, but as soon as you lift the first leg you realize you are far too late.

The best you can do is catch yourself with your hands on the edge of another table when your stomach gives a big, sturdy heave and empties the contents of your stomach right onto the dusty, slightly beige off white tile of Solar’s dining room floor.


	47. The Undying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the static was annoying at first. this is just pissing you off.

You know you blacked out a bit when the next thing you know, you’re in the back staff room of Solars, Apollo fanning you with what looks like a crappy People Magazine.

A few seconds of blurry-eyes wandering, wincing from the bright florescent lights, and recognizing the putrid bitter smell of regurgitated French fries and alcohol along side it’s taste on your tongue, and you see Grillby to the side talking- crackling- with a pair of skeletons. That loud sound is actually Papyrus ranting at Sans, you note.

“oh, honey, you’re coming back around- woah, woah-” he puts the magazine down and pushes you by the shoulders down again when you try to sit up, “lay down, darling, I-”

The second he touches you, you give a short lunge, but when he pushes, the world skips a beat again, and when you come back to a few moments later, the first thing you see is the back of Papyrus’ neon red shirt and long orange scarf you’d gotten last month in December for him. He’s closer, and thusly louder as he yells.

You don’t hear what Apollo says over the ringing in your ears, but you see the light on Papyrus’ collar flicker and the massive skeleton man stiffly moves to the side, beside Grillby and Sans. The loud noise of him talking cut off abruptly as he does, and you see Sans grinding his teeth, pupil less gaze fixated on Apollo.

It takes several moments to come to terms with yourself and sort of re-connect your head to your body and figure out how to make it work again. Your nerves keep you firmly down on the bed after the last bout of black out to make sure Apollo does not end up touching you again, but your head turns to look around a bit more.

You first look at Sans and Papyrus and almost immediately they relax just a bit as does Grillby just behind them under your regaining consciousness.

Still dizzy and feeling sick, but feeling better now that you’ve affirmed that they are okay, your head swivels further and there’s Apollo at your side.

He smiles fondly, fanning your face, sticky with sweat, with his magazine. His suit is all ruffled.

“Sweet heart, just stay calm. You’re alright, hun.” He puts it down and leans over. “I’ve called you cab to take you home, but don’t get up ‘til your tum settles.”

Your throat feels dry, and burns from stomach acid and second-time-tasted alcohol burn, but you muffle out a crackled “sorry” to which Apollo hushes you.

He slowly helps you sit up after a few minutes of quiet, to which you try your best not to seem rude and hold back on cringing or flinching.

You look around for the others again after too long of a silence, and see they haven’t moved. Papyrus looks thoroughly frustrated, teeth grinding just like his brother’s. Sans is giving Apollo one of those hateful gazes he reserves for humans.

“Yhh- You two- alright?” you wheeze a bit but manage to coherently ask the question.

Sans gaze switches to you and- once again it’s not the same way he used to look at you before today, the way he meets your eyes and his pupils come back easily. There’s a new worry and some other things in it you don’t understand and don’t try to.

Papyrus looks like he tries to move toward you but his teeth just grind again and he says nothing.

They both look pointedly at Apollo with angry looks, as does Grillby- even Papyrus looks angry. Which is rare. He doesn’t quite do anger.

It clicks.

You look straight to Apollo, who’s shuffling with something else, “Take it back.”

He looks up at the sharpness of your raw-sounding tone. “Hun-”

“Whatever yohh- you ordered. Take it off them.”

Apollo tilts his head ever so slightly and raises an eyebrow, but shrugs and raises his hand to absently wave at both the brothers, going back to what he was doing- you think he’s getting a mop from the closet.

That’s enough to release the command, apparently, because you hear a single intake of breath, a stream of clacking, loud footsteps and immediately Papyrus is at your side sitting on the- you think it’s a bunch of crates or boxes, with a suit jacket rolled like cushion for where your head is. You note, absently, it’s the jacket of Grillby’s work suit that he never really wears.

“HUMAN I WAS SO WORRIED!!! YOU CREATE SO MUCH OF THE INTESTINE JUICE, TOO! I FIND IT REPULSIVE, BUT I'M STILL WORRIED ABOUT YOU, MY FRIEND!”

You cringe a little, and then give a short, breathy laugh.

“Jesus kid, scared the shit out of us like that.” Sans stands in front of you. “If you need to blow chunks you could give a guy a little warning.”

It’s so fucking weird that he sounds _sincere_ that you can’t help look up at him. Sincere is not his style, normally just sarcasm.

Then again- you don’t know his style, apparently.

Grillby gets your attention from Sans again, however, “……would you…… like anything? …water?”

“You know you- you shouldn’t touch the stuff, Grillbz.” You chuckle at him. He rolls nonexistent eyes at you.

He leaves and comes back unusually quick- you figure the glass of water must have already been made- and he gives it to you. You drink it slowly, trying to wash away the bad taste and soothe your burning throat.

He takes the cup back when you drain it by the last drop. Papyrus was being quiet again, so you look his way only to see him squinting pointedly at your midsection.

He sees you looking, and before you can ask, he smiles. “DO NOT WORRY HUMAN. I'm MERELY CONSIDERING WHY YOU ARE SO SICK! THE ONLY OTHER TIME I HAVE SEEN YOU GET SICK WAS ON PUZZLE DAY!”

As yes, the monster holiday Papyrus told you about so you let him make dinner. The spaghetti specialty made you sick. You told him you had a cold.

You smile at him crookedly. “…just another cold, I guess.”

Papyrus huffed, shooting Sans a look. The shorter brother shrugged impartially while Papyrus concluded, “THE WHOLE THING COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF SNS WERE NOT SUCH A LAZY BONES AND COULD KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THE SIGNS OF A SICK HUMAN! THE CARTOONS MAKE IT OBVIOUS, SANS! THEY TURN GREEN AND EVERYTHING! HOW COULD YOU NOT SEE THIS COMING??”

Apollo steps up and the brothers go quiet and look at him, Papyrus wearily and shifting like he’s ready to defend you or something, Sans with a dangerous gleam of a bright blue iris.

“Sweetheart, the cab is here,” he says warmly, letting his mop lean on the wall. You can’t say you can match his warmness right now for the man. He doesn’t note such a thing. “Are you well enough to go home, hun? I’ll pay the meter for him to wait.”

You want to go home as soon as you can, ready or not, so you smile like you’re just a little boozed, instead of like someone who just underwent an anxiety attack, “I think I’ll be alright, App. Just need a little sleep, ya know?”

He smiles fondly and insists on helping you up and guiding you out the back door to the alley road behind the store, and you try to seem as well as possible despite the contact of his hands. You climb quickly in the back to escape him, and Papyrus follows, Sans climbing in last with a dirty look at Apollo.

He waits until the car peels out at the back door, Grillby waving beside him, until you can no longer see them after rounding the corner.

Its silent for a long distance, aside from the sound of the car running and the usual bustle of city life.

“Your boyfriend needs to learn some boundaries.” Sans puts in, casual, loud, and irritated.

“My _what?_ ”

“Yeah.” He looks at you in his pointed little manner and you want help the briefest, dizzied glare back at him for acting like you have any idea what he’s talking about.

“I believe my brother is referring to the large human man in the tuxedo!” Papyrus adds helpfully, pointing up one finger in a matter-of-fact manor.

“…uh. No. Definitely not. I assure you.”

“Well, he certainly _thinks_ he is.” Sans snorts, head tilting. How, you wonder, does a skeleton snort? “What, you bone the guy and now he thinks you and he are-?”

“Hah _wow_ your getting insulting fast.” You turn your head out the window, already seeing the apartment ahead. The cab is pulling slow to the curb; Apollo must have given him the address, or at least basic directions.

“SANS! HOW CAN YOU SAY SUCH A THING??” Papyrus seems more flustered than you are by the insinuation.

“What’s insulting about it?” Sans said again, rolling his eyes in their sockets- which admittedly looks cool, what with his little light speck eyes. “having a little fun once in a while’s only normal.”

“That isn’t quite my idea of fun. And I wouldn’t touch Apollo.” You shoot back at him, kind of nauseated by the thought. “He’s just a guy from high school. I figure normal people take that to mean something, so, he acts. Ya know. Chummy. I don’t know. Relationships are weird- all of them.”

“MY, HUMAN, I MUST AGREE WITH YOU!” the Taxi cab stops at the curb, and one after another, you and the skeletons clamber out onto city pavement. The cabby already paid beforehand takes off again to find his next customer without a hiccup. “PEOPLE ARE SO DIFFICULT- THAT, UH, ONLY MAKES THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALL THE MORE COOL CONSIDERING I HAVE SO MANY AMAZING FRIENDS AND HAVE HAD MANY DATES!”

“I envy you, pap.” You give him, and he ‘nyeh’s proudly before continuing- though he queits down as the three of you enter the lobby.

“even as magnificent as I am, relationships can be confounding. Why, on my date with my first human friend, Frisk, boy! It was so strange, I thought dating someone should make the affections blossom forth, but I had to break poor frisks heart, for I never developed them.”

“Poor Frisk. They really missed out.” You chuckle.

“Yeah, you’re such a catch, bro.” Sans chimes and the three of you pile into the elevator.

With a laugh and a grin, you add, “man, what I’d give to date the Great Papyrus like that.”

Papyrus is flattered.

“Hey, now. I gotta put my foot down there. No flirting with my bro.” Sans is grinning and leaning on the wall.

You’re slightly unnerved by how calm he is. Relaxed. That’s not very normal.

It doesn’t take long to get out of the elevator and down the hall. And you feel your stress level drop almost by half when you and the skeletons are inside the safety of the walls, and the door is firmly locked.

You end up flopped on the couch, bundled in the throw blanket, with Papyrus. Sans vanishes and you don’t know where he went until the sound of the water runs through the wall and the shower sounds from down the hall.

You’re enjoying the calm quiet when Papyrus asks, “So you are not dating the human man, then?”

You look at Papyrus, then shake your head. His empty sockets are slightly pinched. It’s the kind of expression he gets when he thinks. You try not to run explanation tracks on how the bones of his eyes can do that. You know the answer: magic.

“Are you dating anyone, then, human?”

You arch a brow up at him. You shake your head again, and he asks, “Have you before?”

You think back, briefly. “…only for a week or two. Back in high school, I had a boyfriend.”

“Not the bar human?”

You chuckle, “no, not him. why?”

“uh- OH. Uhm- well!” he seems immediately startled but quickly makes up for himself- “WELL, the great Papyrus is a Dating Master, you know! And, uhm, you know! Masters like to learn- uh- more about their craft! Yes!”

Papyrus knows nothing about dating, then. You can’t help a grin that you try to hide behind your blanket.

“To be honest, pap, dating- it’s a mess. I don’t bother with it anymore. Plus, humans- they’re greedy. Dating doesn’t work out. Or, maybe I'm just really bad at picking. I don’t know. But I tried dating, and it didn’t do any good. So, I don’t bother with it.”

Papyrus slumped back into the couch. “Ah, I understand, human. The Great Papyrus’ dating experiences aren’t quite as great as I myself am. Although, my date with Frisk was pretty fun, they sure were a worthy opponent…”

“Hey- uh- pap?”

“Yes, human?”

“What- what did Apollo say to you?”

Papyrus tilts his head in your direction, and you instinctively pull the blanket a little tighter. “What do you mean?”

You frown. “I uh, I kinda blacked out most of what happened- but, he said something. You know. Ordered.”

Papyrus makes a ‘tsk’ing noise- that you would associate with a clicking tongue, but, Papyrus shouldn’t have one, so. “Well- first he ordered us to carry you back into the secret room behind the bar, with all the boxes and non-magic appliances. But that was easy, even when I picked you up Sans still teleported us back there. I think that scared the big human man. Then he ordered us to go clean up the intestine juice, but that was also easy, as the Great Papyrus is a cleaning master, too!” you hadn’t thought there had been multiple commands, you only saw the one. Hearing them being ordered around, though, it was making you sick. Like, may-throw-up-again sick. “and then, when the human man made you upset in the back room because he was unaware of the no-touch-the-human-anxiety policy like Sans and I do, well, my brother and I both got upset and the large human man told Sans to ‘shut up and go over there’ and I tried to explain to him and make sure he didn’t break the rule again, but he told me he knew and then the same thing, so, I had to go over there too. I’m so sorry, human, it’s a terrible thing that I had to leave you like that and I couldn’t help…”

“That sure as hell isn’t your fault pap.” You said seriously, “And that isn’t your job, you don’t have to-”

Papyrus shushed you, “HUMAN! You are my friend, and as the most Amazing friend to ever exist it is my duty to help and support my friends, which certainly includes when they are in a distressed state! It most certainly is my job, since you are my friend!” a pause, “right?”

Awh hell. The uncertainty in his expression and voice was like a knife to your heart muscle.

“Man, pap, fuck yeah bud. Friends. Man, you’re probably the best friend I ever had!” you assure him quickly and vehemently.

That uncertainty practically evaporates into a sheer joy, which he quickly tries to cover up, “oh! Well, of course I am, I am so amazing. I knew we were friends, of course.”

What you don’t want right now, is static. But while Papyrus launches into a rant on how he’s so great, he flickers out of your hearing range and the sound of static takes over, filling an absence like your ears were suddenly plugged entirely.

It’s again that you realize, you’re looking at something that doesn’t exist. It’s in front of you, but it’s as if it’s too far and too close to be seen no matter how you focus your eyes, and immediately it gives you a migraine, buzzing in a bad way the clashes with your stressed, twisted body and makes nausea roll off you in waves.

Hands… but they make shapes. Shapes they can’t make. And hands don’t look like that. You can’t see them. They don’t make sense. There’s no logic to this, you think two even look like skull and cross bones. That isn’t physically possible. It doesn’t make sense.

Suddenly the static parts way. A snip of something Papyrus said.

“-and my best friend-”

The hands flicker but remain and feel like they’re searing into the inside of your skull slowly.

And then again.

“Head of the royal guard,”

An axe hits your head and splits instead just a faint memory.

You see something that you personally shouldn’t have seen. It’s a memory that isn’t yours, that’s what the axe was, something forced into your head to see.

A towering woman. She looks powerful and strange- she’s blue and red- she’s grinning- she’s as jagged as her own teeth. She’s- cooking?

This is Papyrus’ memory. You know it the second you see his bone arm reach like yours would away from you out to grab something.

Papyrus sees this woman. He knows her. Who is she?

Again the axe hits your head and those… things in front of you flash.

“-I hope Undyne is okay, actually, I-”

For only a few seconds you can read those… things.

U N D Y N E

And the static is gone as immediately as it hit you to begin with.

Quietly, you say her name again. “Undyne?”

Papyrus turn to you, “What was that, Human friend? You whisper too quietly!”

You look up at him, head ringing, muscles tight, frightened and nervous but well concealed.

You can feel him behind you, but Papyrus must not see him as he looks at you. You tell yourself it’s not real. It’s just a shadow.

“…tell me about Undyne.” You ask Papyrus.

U N D Y N E

The letters- no, the hands- no, the- the- the things- they’re burned into your mind.

U N D Y N E

Papyrus lights up, and starts to tell you the tales of a fearsome woman, Head of the Royal Guard of King Asgore.

U N D Y N E

Undyne The Undying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyped to start the second arch. 
> 
> bless me with the time and lack of depression to get to write it!


	48. Transition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little foreshadowing in a tiny chapter

Your alarm goes off like screams the next morning, but you’re already awake.

You’ve already taken a shower, scrabbled around for your nicest clothes, and started making a thorough, good, healthy breakfast and packed lunch as you readied for your day.

Papyrus was, of course, also awake at the horrible early hour and you’d been chatting for quite a while; Sans was face down on the couch, sleeping and _not_ awake at this hour.

Luck him.

Papyrus found himself enamored in your ‘healthy cooking’ this morning, a particular fan of hash browns. He says Undyne would have loved this.

“SHE LOVES COOKING, ESPECIALLY HEALTHY FOOD.”

Every time you hear her name you see a scar in your memory where you saw something you can’t exactly… say that you saw. You're head hurts. But with it comes an urgency that you can’t comprehend, so you listen closely. You soak up the information about her like a sponge, occasionally prompting him for more.

You’ve made both the brothers a lunch and put it in the fridge before Papyrus seems to remember that he can’t come with you, and he’s slowly slumping over in his chair as you can tell he comes to terms with it. You’re almost amused by his solemnness, like a child who was told they can’t come to take-your-child-to-work-day.

“So, what do you think you wanna do while im gone?” You ask him at last, before stuffing your face with eggs. Sans has joined you both now that the hour is a little more reasonable, mostly for eggs drowning in ketchup.

Papyrus gives a long, tired sigh. “HUMAN I HAVE REORGANIZED THIS HOUSE A GREAT NUMBER OF TIMES AND IT IS CLEANER THAN IT MOST LIKELY EVER HAS BEEN. I HAVE COMPLETED THE BOOK OF PUZZLES, AS DIFFICULT AS IT MAY HAVE BEEN WITH THE WAX CRAYONS OF THE PUZZLE MASTERS OF CRAYOLA, WHICH I AM OUT OF BECAUSE I MADE MANY GREAT WORKS OF ART, TOO. THE GREAT PAPYRUS… WELL… HE WILL BE BORED.”

You cant help but feel for him.

“im sorry about not grabbing something on the way home from the registration, I meant to get you another book, or maybe something else to do. I… I guess I got…” you quiet for a moment, distracted by thoughts of static that always comes if you think too long about it, before finishing, “distracted.”

Papyrus waves you off. “No, my dear human.” He seems to have remembered to lower his voice again. “The Great Papyrus is, alas, just so unused to the restrictions of a home. In my prime I practically ran Snowdin and the Snowy Woods. Papyrus, the Sentry, was always busy!”

“maybe I can find you a new hobby?” You applied, thoughtfully.

“WELL I LOVE TO COOK!”

You cringe internally.

“Yeah, but, cooking as a hobby… it gets expensive, bud. Plus I don’t have the best kind of kitchen for it; all my appliances are kind of old, and the more you use something, the more its liable to break, and I cant afford to replace anything…” You watched Papyrus visibly deflate. “…im sorry, pap. Maybe we can hold off on cooking til we find you the job you want, alright? The money you make can go towards cooking stuff if that’s what you want.”

He seemed very happy with this thought.

“how’sabout today, we find ya a lucrative hobby?” Sans said instead as you got up to start the final rounds. You had to leave to get to the new job in a few minutes. “Something good for profit, or at least good for saving some money.”

“SANS I REFUSE TO WORK AN ILLEGAL HOTDOG STAND IF THAT IS WHERE YOU ARE GOING WITH THIS.” So much for watching his volume. Then again, the neighbors stopped complaining. They were getting used to him.

You’re so lucky you haven’t been evicted.

Sans and Papyrus were still tossing around hobby ideas- one of which being wood carving or something like that but neither one of them seemed all that excited when you left for work. You told them that lunch was in the fridge and had they’re names on it, and that you’d be home around 5 o clock, please stay safe and don’t do anything too wild, try not to break anything- eventually Sans started cracking mom puns at you to try and get you to leave.

And, so you did.

You hitched a ride on the bus after getting a usual coffee from Abby’s shop, feeling so much more excited then a normal morning normally left you.

There was a strong, glowing feeling of something like hope in your chest. Although there was a lot to worry about- Sans’ sudden change in disposition toward you, the static and the fake memories, whatever was happening with this warrior woman Undyne- through all the bad, some good was finally happening.

You just had a massive positivity about it. Hope. It was weird to be hopeful. There’d never been much to look forward at but a grey monotony of working every day for the rest of your life to meet whatever the means of the end.

But this afternoon you’d get to come home and see what the brother’s had found to occupy papyrus (hopefully nothing too exuberant), and in the coming week you’d help them find jobs to lighten the money load, and Papyrus would be helping you in the kitchen, and then maybe you’d eventually be able to afford Sans a telescope or something so he’d have something he’d enjoy too, and maybe you should try talking to your sister a little more, maybe reach out to your brother…

And before you knew it, you were standing at the foot of a tall city building with a positive, rarely excited aura ready to take on a new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry on slow updates. i have 3 weeks to finish my classes or i wont be graduating so. really working on that more than writing lately.


	49. The RS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koyol Bessmertnyy is nothing as he seems

Kyle is your new boss.

He’s an almost horrifically tall man, with a strange, almost Russian accent. But he talks like an old man for someone who looks maybe 25 to 30.

He’s a very strange man but he meets you just inside the building at the door, tall and lanky. His face is bizarrely expressionless, too. And by that you mean it in a literal way. Like, other than blinking and basic mouth movements when he speaks, his face… doesn’t do anything.

He greets you by your name the moment he sets eyes on you, somehow. You hadn’t noticed him until he said it in his creepy monotone, and you turned around to meet this goliath and almost jumped out of your skin.

“I am Koyol Bessmertnyy.” He greets without even a moment’s pause, “I own the company. Please, call me Kyle, or whatever otherwise you wish.”

You’re thankful for the easy nickname- although a name embroidered on his near-suit-attire shirt spells the first name easily k-o-y-o-l, you know for a fact that the word he said as his name was not nearly as simple, let alone the second name; you would not be trying to pronounce either anytime soon. You would probably butcher it if you tried.

“uh- hello, Mr. Kyle, have I kept you waiting?” You introduce yourself with an extended hand, which feels weird since he already said your name, in full. You’re not sure how he knew to recognize you considering you’d not met him before. While you still have quite a bit of that excitement you felt outside, the presence of your… boss is unnerving and draining it.

Your boss is, to say the least, intimidating. Everything about his impression, from the messy looking green color of his hair, to the strange blackness of his entire eye, to the piercings in each ear, to the imposing height. What kind of CEO has piercings and green hair, anyway? And you can’t figure out why his eyes are… like that.

He doesn’t shake your hand, his own stay firmly at his sides. He nods his head instead, so you take it back- you hadn’t really wanted to shake his hand, personally, either.

“Just Kyle.” He corrects you. He’s much more intimidating that the normal first name basis kind of boss, but, hey. It’s better than trying to call him Mr. Bessmertnyy.

He’s holding a red notebook, the thick 3 subject kind, and your full name is sharpied on the cover. You only notice it when he holds it up to himself and opens it, flipping a few pages. You glance various pieces of paper taped into it, recognizing some of the forms you’d filled out at your interview, and a copy of your resume, as well as other pages with notes. You wouldn’t have had enough time to read anything if you could, not that you can; most of the pencil and pen read in a language you do not know at all.

“You were hired to work as a Human Resources Manager for the RS’s restaurant, yes?” You give a single nod, but you don’t know if he actually saw it; his pure black eyes mean you can’t tell where exactly he’s looking since you can’t see a pupil or iris. You can only guess by the tilt of his head. Whether he saw or not, he continued anyway.

“Alright, follow me. Tell me, if you will, how much do you know about the RS company and why you desired a position with us?”

You blink. “I'm- Uh, well, I’ve only eaten at the restaurant once. Not much else, just looking for a good job.”

“The Clear Point Restaurant is a non-profit segment for funding the RS department. My request was how much you knew about the company, not our restaurant.”

You pause, surprised. The place was a nonprofit? You were still going to get payed, right?

“Oh- well, nothing, I guess.”

Kyle nodded, looking over his shoulder once back at you. “Forgive me if I am surprised. Your background is why, particularly, you were hired, as it is one of the company priorities to hire troubled individuals. I expected this was why you applied, as is the case with most who apply to work here or elsewhere for RS. Do you know what the RS is?”

“My- background?” He must hear the slight bristle in your voice because his otherwise stead-fast footsteps hesitate for several seconds, long enough for you to have caught up to his side when you did not hesitate. There’s a certain defensive anger in your tone that you find a little embarrassing as you press, “What _background_?”

“One question at a time.” Because his voice is so blatantl and neutral and… how can you say it… _hollow_ , you can’t discern whether he’s dodging your question or if he’s irritated at your irritation, or any other form of reaction, for that matter. “I asked, do you know what the RS is?”

You try your best to withhold irritation in your voice, considering this man is your employer. “No, I suppose I don’t know anything about it.”

He nods briefly again, something he does after just about everything you say, it seems. “Would you care to hear it?”

You shrug. “Sure, can’t hurt to know who I'm working for.”

Again, of course, he nods. “The RS, or Rainbow Squad, is a company for assisting those of bad circumstance. This is done in all manners of speaking. Providing jobs for those who need them as well as volunteer positions, donations and charity movements, schooling and classes, other such things. Clear Point Restaurant is a fund branch of the RS. We provide jobs for those who can work, and pay them, but also volunteer slots. What does not go to the building, keeping the restaurant open and running, and the employees goes to the RS. Understood?”

“Yeah. it seems pretty simple- wouldn’t want to be the one balancing the books on something like that, but- the concept is simple.” At least you know you're still getting payed.

Once again he nods. “Yes. It’s mostly possible because of a small partnership with the local restaurants and the city. That aside, RS- Rainbow Squad- is a reputable ally company, with many affiliations in need. You understand that this sort of thing requires balanced care for any and all parties.”

You squint and look at him out of the corner of your eye. “What are you implying?”

He’s looking at a page in his book, you think at least by the angle of his head.

“There’s a rule here at the RS, my dear. All parties are respected. Everyone is worthwhile. This has always applied and will continue to apply here. All people. No race, no age, no identity, will be discriminated and anything remotely hateful will immediately have you expelled now and in all future of RS works, including as a paying patron should you act with them as an employee and thusly representative of our corporation.”

“Well, I doubt you’ll have issue from me on that part, pretty sure.”

“This implies hate against those who have hate.”

You have a slight chuckle. “So I can’t hate someone who’s sexist, for example, or ill get fired.”

“No- you can hate if you so can’t help it, though we at the RS help _everyone_. Should they be the most racist, sexist, misogynistic ass hole, be they in need we will help them if they come for it. We treat everyone decently.”

You can’t help a little snort when he says asshole. He just… he just does not seem at all the kind to curse. But no less you shrug, “alright, I get it.”

“Now, I imply, everyone. You understand this?”

You nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“This includes monsters.”

“It better.”

He taps a finger on a paper and you glance over at him from looking around the halls your both walking. “I have records that you are a slave owner yourself.”

“Mind your own business, sir.”

If there was anything you really didn’t want to bring into your workplace it was going to be your home life. And frankly the biggest thing in your home life was Sans and Papyrus. That, and you didn’t want to be known at what was apparently a love-everyone workplace as the person with the slaves.

Man, all your coworkers are going to be hippies, aren’t they?

“My business.” You don’t know why, because his voice is blank and his face expressionless, but you get the distinct feeling he’s amused. “as I said, the RS _is_ my business, and thus so are you since you will be working here.”

“They aren’t your business.”

“Do not think too wrong of me for intruding on your business. The background checks we run here are very extensive. We cannot have those who would hurt the ones we try and aid, here. Considering your position as a manager of out workers in the Human Resources Department, out background searches have been extra cautious.”

Kyle continued to flip a page or two, but you kept your eyes off him and around the halls you walked. The further in you went the less you seemed to see as the offices became neater and minimalistic and the doors to other rooms grew fewer.

He continued, no less. “Trust me, we would not have hired you if we thought you dangerous to our missions. If you feel personal preferences for racism, sexism, abusiveness toward others, anything like that, there is nothing showing you’ve acted on these feelings. So whether you have them or not does not matter, so long as you treat everyone who needs help here properly, as well as all employees and customers. It’s not of my concern whether you believe in monster slavery or not, just weather you would mistreat any monster persons. Our only grey area in all your background searches is that you in fact are a monster owner, and we’d need to know that, working as a Human Services representative, you would not hold a prejudice to other owners, to those who are pro ownership or anti ownership, or prejudice toward an owned or unowned monster.”

“unowned?” you questioned curiously. While a Free Monster was legal, it wasn’t really something that was a thing. You didn’t know there actually _were_ any free monsters.

“yes.” But he said nothing more.

“So- what do you want me to do, then?” you change back to the topic at hand. “I imagine word of mouth doesn’t work well for a company that has so much background checking, so just promising not to have a prejudice to monsters or owners wouldnt work.”

He continued to look at his papers, “we will just monitor your work carefully, for now. See to it that anyone who falls into the categories of concern is well taken care of from your position just as anyone else.”

You can feel rather than tell by any means that he is hesitating, so you press, “and?”

With that he adds, “And, perhaps, we would like to speak with this… Sans and Papyrus.”

He must have seen the grimace on your face. he was quick to add, “Just to see your level of treatment of you monsters, I assure you.”

“I'm going to guess this is a requirement?”

You finally come to a stop. The only doors left in this hall are an elevator, and a single room at the end that was also an elevator, but with a sign: Level 4 Access. It looks like it needs a keycard to even call the elevator.

“unfortunately, given you will be working as human resources in a company like this, yes.”

“Yeah. makes sense.” You sigh. “You don’t happen to employ monsters, by the way?”

“Of course. Equal opportunities abound, my friend.”

“So when should I ask them to come into work with me?”

“Try for tomorrow. Meanwhile, today, I will show you to your RS-campus office, then I will have someone escort you to the restaurant across to the street.”

“Escort?” you both loaded into the elevator after a few other people stepped out.

“Yes. The RS has a very good security committee, and we like our workers to be safe. We have optional take-home services with drivers to take you home should you work until after dark. The Escort to your new work location will not be security most likely, though- ill have an assistant take you just to show you your on-location office and the ropes at the restaurant.”

“…ritzy.”

“More like paranoid.” He corrected, and you chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh, yes, the new company.  
> lets hope Reader can hold a job better than i can.
> 
> lmao by the way since you all were asking i basically failed school. for the 3rd time.  
> your local author is an idiot ; )


	50. Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Positive outlooks are good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOO chapter 50

The trip across the street and down the road is spent with… interesting company. It’s a man who introduces himself with a very long, foreign name, but just says to call him Kal. He’s tall, half his head is shaved, he only has one arm, and he’s covered in scars. He also dresses in gym shorts and a crop top of a way too bright purple and his hair’s a blinding bright red. He’s only got a single working eye, the other is always closed.

Koyol is with you when you meet him, of course, saying his goodbyes. You're… almost _shocked_ when he tells you that “Kal” is your Manager.

He… does not look like a manager.

Then again, Kyle with his sloppy green hair and the stranger aspects of his… appearance… also doesn’t look like a CEO.

You’ve come to accept that the people at this company are… strange. And you’ve only officially met two of your superiors. You hope your coworkers are at least… _simpler._ Not everyone can be super tall and vaguely threatening looking, right?

Walking with Kal is just as strange as walking with Kyle was. He’s almost as tall and almost as intimidating a presence, and he has a very similar manner of speaking that sounds the same type of ‘foreign’ to your mind as Kyle.

He talks to you as you walk down the street, and he’s a very polite person. Uses please and thank you a lot, and talks very friendly, and… well, just… he just _sounds_ polite. It’s the tone of his voice or something.

He spends most of the time talking to you about work, even after you get there, and you stand in the tiny waiting area near the hostess. He explains the hours and schedule, when the place is open, what working there is like, what your job will be like. He says he’s not personally familiar with what your job will be as he’s never particularly done anything related to HR positions, but, He and his Co-worker, a woman he calls Mona, will be able to help you.

There’s a lot of names he’s throwing around. Mona is a co-manager and does more of the financing. He says the name Sammy and that they handle the childcare division next door that’s also a part of the RQ organization- they watch the kids of workers and provide cheap childcare service for the city with high standards. Etc. he mentions another name and you can’t even remember it and you don’t even remember what he said she does. There’s more and more names and you lose them as he talks and, you’re pretty sure he can tell, but he doesn’t address it.

When you finally head inside, he shows you around. He shows you your on site office- he explains that you have two- one is a small cubicle that Koyol showed you at the HQ, and you’ll go back across the street on Fridays to work there off site; it’s a bit bizarre but as he explains that you’ll have to do reports and files, you understand it’s just easier over there.

Your office over here is on the third floor. The restaurant itself is the bottom and second floors. You only see the first floor at first when the two of you walked through it. It reminds you of a coffeehouse like deal rather than the upscale type. This is the part you’ve been to; significantly cheaper. Though you’ve looked up at the entrance to the upscale place; the tiny foyer that leads to the stairs that go up to the second floor fancier restaurant just _looks_ fancy, though you’ve never seen the restaurant yourself. There’s an employee elevator in the back that goes upstairs to the second, third and fourth floors, all of which belong to the RQ restaurant.

The two of you take the elevator to the third floor, and the offices are very nice. There’s an employee break area- even a door that Kal shows you leads to a couple bunk beds. He calls it the “Emergency Bedroom” and says it’s in case an employee- as, after all, the kind they hire normally have certain mental ailments- needs a break, or even if an employee might lose housing for a couple days.

He gives you a rundown that employees get a free lunch every day from the kitchens if they choose, and lets you know about the discounts you can claim being an employee, before you both move on to the actual offices.

He points out a couple as he passes.

“Koyol”s is a tiny one and he says it’ll always be locked unless Kyle is here; he and Mona are the only others with keys.

“Mona”s is next door, and he reminds you that she runs funds and money. At the end of the day she and the workers will tally up earnings, and Mona takes the ‘profit’ to the bank. Don’t even try to steal a penny, he says; Mona will _know_.

Kal shows you his own which is across from Koyols; His door is always locked just like the other two, he says, unless he’s inside, but he’ll normally be inside or around the restaurant floors during all running hours and an hour after. He jokes that sometimes he doesn’t even leave and will just crash for the night in the Emergency room.

He unlocks the door and you both step in. It’s a room that’s spotlessly clean and impeccably organized aside from an open laptop, a pile of papers, a book sitting on top of a shelf instead of put away, and his window that would open over the street is covered with closed blinds that let in the mid-day city sun between the wooden brown slats. He finds and hands you a ring of keys and tells you that the one with a yellow dot opens the first floor restaurants door, the one with the green paint dot will open the door to the second floor foyer to the upstairs restaurant, the one with a red dot unlocks the door to the 3rd floor employee wing, and the one with the blue dot will open to your office.

“Please, do not lose your keys. They are expensive to have made and its safer for security to have fewer of them. We will have to charge you to make new copies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And again, please. Just Kal.”

He gives you that same crooked smile and between it and polite mannerisms you seriously can’t help starting to like the guy.

He shows you down the hall to your office, pointing out other doors- Sammy, Bella, and other names you continue to lose and their office times, as well as employee bathrooms and a room with lockers where the servers and baristas and such and such leave their things during work. He mentions that you will be in charge of those.

When he opens your currently unlocked office you can’t help but say you’re a little pleased to have a window, even if its along the alleyway. You get a fair amount of light through it and that feels quite nice. Which is good, because Kal reminds you to only use your light when you’re in the room and need it, please and thank you for agreeing.

“Do you have a laptop, my dear?”

“Oh- yes, I have a personal one.”

“You are free to bring it, but, I recommend you do personally. We don’t have the funds to provide you one for work- not yet at least. We’re working on improvements, and if you think an updated model can aid your work considerable- and that you can _prove_ that, of course- we will see to it. until then, scheduling sheets, emails, resumes, and such- things are easier manageable with some form of computer. Do you have an email account?”

When you say yes, he opens a folder he grabbed from his office and places it on the desk in the mostly empty office; it’s a list of emails and names, of all the workers in the office, of important names from the RQ, etc. He recommends that if your email is for professional works then you should use it, but highly recommends you make a new account specifically for work as you will get a lot of work related emails and it will make it easier. You decide to take him up on that advice and scribble a not to yourself on the bottom of the piece of paper, to which he smirks a little. He also recommends you write and send a brief introduction email from whichever email you use to all the listed emails and make sure you keep them and all other important employees on hand.

He writes down both restaurant’s websites and the RQ website, and tells you he’ll have an account for you to the RQ server soon and that will be how you clock in or manage anything related to the organization directly, like editing staff volunteer hours- which will also be a part of your job.

After all the walkthroughs, Kal takes you to meet staff. It’s mostly humans, as you expect. There’s one monster that works here, though. Kal introduces you- just as he does to everyone else, but you lose the names as your introduced to the next person, one after another. The only names you seem to catch are a practically ancient old woman names Gracey Moon who looks somewhat Indian who’s bussing tables, and the monster girl. She’s purple in color, get plenty of eyes, and works in the Kitchen, making pastries.

Kal introduces her as Muffet, and she’s a bit intriguing as she gives you a little laugh, a wave, and greets you with a chipper “Good Evening, Deary.”

“Yes, without Miss Muffet, our little Café surely wouldn’t be so well known for its pastries. She has amazing recipes.”

“…is it FDA approved the be putting spiders… in those donuts? I uh, gotta warn you, Kal, sir, I worked as a health inspector for a little while…”

“Oh? That’s fantastic, you can keep this place running so well, my dear. I can’t wait to have you in for a work day. And, there’s no law against it. It’s a foreign class dish, I assure you. The same way you can get fried scorpions or Chocolate Ants.”

“Deary, none of those are nearly as delicious as spider goods.” Muffet ahuhuhuhus and you find yourself concerningly amused.

“Do you use your own spiders?” You asked Muffet curiously, watching the little guys scatter from you over the table when you lean in a bit.

“Certainly!”

You’re… very concerned.

You just smile. “well, alright then, pleasure to meet you, Muffet.”

Muffet gives you a kind smile. “And you, dear.” She seems relieved.

After that, the walkthrough is officially over, so you and Kal start to move toward the front door, ready to take your separate ways.

“I can tell it will be fantastic having you working with us, my friend.” He’s just getting ready to leave you, but you cant help but raise one hand slightly to stop him, and he turns back.

“If you honestly don’t find it rude for me to ask- uhm, Muffet.”

“Are you going to ask ‘who owns her’?” He prompts.

You shoot a glance to the kitchen doors, then back to him. “I'm hoping you’ll tell me that’s the “Free Monster” I heard Kyle mention.”

Kal gives you a cheeky grin. “Unfortunately, she is not. Yet. Legally, she is owned by myself. She would be Kyle and I’s… project. We aim to see if a free monster can really occur.”

You cant help a grin. “It sounds like a great project. I’d love to give you hand if I can.”

Kal beams. “I wont forget you offered, my friend. Back to you- I say the same. Don’t hesitate to let us know if you need help in the future. Its what the RS is for, after all.”

You and Kal part ways, then, and you start to make your way home, feeling somehow possibly more optimistic about this job than you had this morning.

The whole way home you do several things just for the hell of it to spread your good mood. You fish out a $10 bill for the homeless man down the road, you stop at your sisters to get a green tea, you buy a newspaper from a cheerful paper boy on the street (who even reads these anymore?), and take a long ways home to stop at the store, picking up some groceries and even a god damn pie to take home.

Ironically, as your about to cash out, you see little potted lemon trees for sale.

When life gives you a lemon shit sucks. So get yourself a source of lemons, am I right?

You get yourself a baby lemon tree, beaming, and head home- you walk into the living room and the first thing you can do is just.

“Oh. My. God.”

Sans seems to have found Papyrus a new hobby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM HORRIBLY CONSIDERING RE WRITING A VERY OLD NARUTO FANFICTION
> 
> ALSO IM 40 YEARS TOO LATE FOR THE OFF FANDOM BUT I LOVE ZACHARIE WOULD IT BE WEIRD TO WRITE AN OFF FANFICTION?? ITS LIKE A DEAD FANDOM.


	51. Grand Theft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two very time consuming hobbies for a chef.

“Oh. My. God.”

Sans seems to have found Papyrus a new hobby.

Oh, man.

Two hobbies, actually.

Said shorter skeleton practically appears at your side, both his hands up in the air, already starting to sweat.

“Now- this might look bad. But, hear me out.”

You just. Look at Sans. Eyes wide.

He gives you a crooked looking grin.

“Uhm. You’ll save money on letting Papyrus cook?”

You look at the… evolved mess of stuff that appears to have started with a couponing hobby, which is engulfing every part of the floor, into a gardening hobby that has indeed filled up every flat surface.

“I- you- _Sans._ ” You turn back to him, the exact same expression on your face.

“Wait-” he holds up both his hands up even higher. “Before you panic- It won’t always be this messy? We got carried away?”

You slowly put your bags of groceries and the newspaper you bought down on the pile of _more_ news papers- the pages have holes in them. You suspect the holes are coupons in the _massive pile overflowing from the sink_. Or they could be in the pile spilling out of the _god damn hallway_.

You shake your head and walk slowly to the 6 tomato plants on the coffee table. They have tiny little baby green bulbs, and according to the little T-tags stuck in the dirt, each plant is a different breed of tomato. You hadn’t known there were so many types of tomato.

“I- I don’t even- I thought you were both going to _think_ about a hobby while I was gone?!”

Sans up held his crooked grin. “Uh- we did?”

“ _Where did you get this stuff?_ ”

There’s garden tools and coupon books and pots and… so much stuff.

This is good looking stuff.

Expensive stuff.

“Uh- heh- well, you see-”

“Is that a new toaster on the counter?”

“Heheh- well- you were right? Your old things break easier? We- uh, broke the toaster this morning?”

Slowly your hands cover your face. you can feel a slow sinking feeling engulfing the space inside your stomach and your glad you haven’t eaten yet today.

“Sans. Sans, look. Buddy, bone boy, bony, my buddy.”

You turn to him and he looks- nervous.

“Look. I know you’re a Klepto, man, I don’t mind if you snatch a cheap pair of slippers from a thrift store. I don’t mind you snatched a few gag props from- god knows where you got them. I don’t mind the ungodly amount of ketchup packets you sneak out of Solars every time your there.”

His smile shifted a little in his expression. It’s difficult to read. You sighed.

“But, look. Look- this- this is a… a lot of stuff. Please. Please, tell me, you didn’t sneak off and steal a bunch of shit. A bunch of good, quality looking shit.”

Sans slowly lowers his hands and they rest in his jacket pockets.

Silence.

“Oh my god, Sans.”

“ _Come on_ , kid, s’not like you could _afford_ buying a bunch of new shit, or I would have aske you.”

“ _Oh my god, Sans._ ” You look at him, horrified. “Sans man, I don’t- look, man, I’d turn down _charity_ , let alone _theft_. We don’t need this stuff!”

Sans gestured at a pile of seed packets. “It was for Pap!”

“Sans do you honestly think Papyrus would like that you stole stuff for- Where’s Papyrus?”

You look around, stiff. It’s far too quiet in here. You’re missing a very loud, excited skeleton who should be bouncing around the room telling you all about his new hobbies and how good he should be at them already.

Sans scratched the side of his head. “At- uh, the bar.”

“Eh?”

“well- ok, we started the couponing, and then he found a gardening magazine, and started talking about how good that idea was- and frankly, yeah, I though it was brilliant, even better than the couponing, and then I said maybe it’s about time we grabbed food- so I sent him to grab some stuff from Grillby. And when he’d get back, I’d, uh, surprise him.”

“Wiiiiiith stolen plants.”

“Well I wouldn’t _say_ that.”

“Sans they’re _still_ stolen!”

“Eh.” He shrugs and starts clearing a spot on the couch.

“Where did you even steal them from?! Who sells Plants in this city?!” you follow him, motioning at several pepper plants sitting on the big living room window’s sill.

“The Big Flea Market down on 5th. Used to… _work_ there. Knew a guy selling organics.” He sits, crossing his arms.

You don’t let your mind wander to him _working_ there- you can feel enough bad feelings welling from inside your stomach and lungs without that added to the mix. But even as the guilt and nerves grow, you can help your anger.

“Oh so you _stole_ from a guy you _know_?” You cross your arms right back at him.

He looks up at you and there’s the Sans you’re familiar with. Black hollow eyes and expressionless face.

Oh you feel it coming, and he says exactly what you expect. “It’s better than _owning_ a guy you know.”

You give him a wry little smile, and just as you expect, there’s a sickening curdling feeling that swells in your stomach from the heaviness that feels like its rising up to your throat. “You’re right.” You point at the bright green spinach plant, swallowing back a mouthful of bile as subtly as possible. “But _stealing_ is still bad, Sans.”

“Are you my mom or my owner?” He grins at you.

“I'm the bag of shit that owns you and now has a house full of stolen shit.” You grin back, trying to even more subtly put your hand at the stabbing pain emanating from your lower intestine.

You turn but have to stop at the pain spike that follows. Oh, god. That hurts.

“…Damn.” You here him mutter after a second. “Shit. Look, yeah- uhm.” He stands up and you shift a step away from him. “Now, that’s what I was… was trying to explain. I'm- I’m… sorry.”

“Explain?” fuck. Maybe you have an ulcer now. You look at him, and try to stand a little straighter. Your back pops as you try to stretch your guts out of the knots they’ve tangled into and the both of you jump a little. “ow.” Now you’re rubbing your back. Jesus you’re falling apart at the seams. “I have no idea what you’re even talking about, Sans. Why are you apologizing?”

“At… the bar.” He looks that same uncomfortable he’d been at the exact occasion he’s bringing up. “This is what I was trying to talk about. Being an asshole.”

You glance at him, then back across the room. “Well- still don’t know what you mean. We haven’t said anything that isn’t completely true.”

You hear him shift and glance over again for just a quick second. He’s rubbing one of his temples and inhaling slow, looking at the ground. He looks back up and your eyes dart back across the room quickly.

He steps forward, “look.” You step to the side quickly, stiffer than a moment ago. Sans stops, and then sighs. “look.” He starts again, “It _is_ the truth, your right- no. no, not all of that was true, I mean, you’re _technically_ my-- _owner_ , and you are in a house full of stolen shit. But the fact is I'm an asshole about it and I don’t need to be. It fucks you up.”

You scoff, running a hand through your hair. “What do you even mean, I'm-”

“If you say you’re fine, that’s _laughable_.” Sans cuts in sharply. “Kid you are… not fine.”

You shrug, sigh, and then tug the ends of your hair. “Well I'm not _fine_ , I'm an asshole slave owner who can’t afford to live without drowning in a constant state of working to death. But I mean, I'm fine, you aren’t ‘fucking me up.’”

Sans sat on the edge of the couch seat, crossing his arms. “Now again. There are truths in that, but, not all of it is true. Particularly the entire last sentence.”

You make a face at him. Sans stares back at you. it’s certainly less horrifying when he has pupils.

Suddenly he squints. “If you’re so hard up for cash, why such a big apartment?”

You blink, raising a brow.

Uhm, topic change?

He gestures down the hall. “I mean, it has 3 bedrooms? If you live alone, and you’re rarely here, why are you renting a corner apartment with 3 bedrooms? If you were so hard for cash, why didn’t you just live in, like, a little loft? At best you could downsize some.”

You ‘ah’. “well for starters- the people that rent this building are idiots. This apartment is like, absurdly cheap- all of the building is, that’s why this place is always totally booked. Secondly, it _was_ more expensive. My sister lived here for about eight years, and the landlord gave her cheaper as she lived here for longer and longer. When she was moving out, she introduced me, pulled a few favors… so, I live in it now at her really cheap price. It’s about the price of a moderate one-room apartment somewhere else, so, why give up such a good deal if I could help it?” You shrug.

Sans knits his bony fingers together in front of his face. “And… _about_ your sister. If you're struggling- and you are- and working yourself to death- and you are- and working a most likely illegal job at night- which you possibly are doing, I'm not an idiot- why does your wealthy upper-scale CEO lawyer sister not assist you, despite, as I do recall, accepting large amounts of money from you to fund a surgery?”

You cross your arms and turn to face him a little more fully, feeling an uncomfortable defensiveness rising in your throat where you still taste a little stomach acid, and have to swallow that back down, too.

“Nosy much?”

“Curious much.”

You bob your head once. “…well. She does help. a lot.” You wave one arm over your shoulder. “She pays about… 80% of the money that has to go into the debt account I mentioned. It’s a lot of money, that alone is a lot of contribution.”

“But she still has enough money to send her children to Paris this summer.” He mentioned, less than impressed. “She and Papyrus talked about that one the whole walk back here. As well as the very nice car she owns that made Papyrus jealous.”

“Well, she bought me my car, too.” You mutter, making a somewhat irritated face. “Sans… shes given me enough, and you literally heard me say a bit ago, I'm not going to take _charity_ unless I absolutely am dying.”

“So, does starving yourself to the point you made Papyrus nervous about how light you were for a human to most likely save money on food count as dying? Or, the level of sleep deprivation? Or maybe the amount of physical exertion you put forward every day for who knows how long? Or the countless other things possibly killing you slowly?”

“Why the fuck do _you_ care?” You finally snap, with a hard glare forming on your expression and malice dripping into your tone.

The way his shoulders hunch and his little eyes dilate to pin head size, he was… not expecting it- or perhaps not as strongly as it came; it honestly surprised you a little, too.

You flex your fingers, curling and uncurling them in fists, before finally you can’t keep standing still and start picking up coupon after coupon, snipped with an obsessive neatness with perfect edges you can only deem from Papyrus.

“Sans- just- we both know this doesn’t actually matter to you.” You look around for a bag to start stuffing these into and find a plastic shopping bag. You have to take a baby apple tree out of it- you look over to the fucking lemon tree you bought. Looks like it’ll fit right the fuck in.

“And… why do we ‘both know that’.” He presses, a little more cautiously than before.

You look at him. He’s looking back at you.

“…why the fuck _would_ you, Sans?” you frown. “You don’t like me, why the fuck would you give a damn how difficult it is for me to make a living or what the hell my family is doing?” You look at him again with a bitter little grin.

You can’t help but not believe such a look of genuine confusion can be on his expression so cleanly. It’s bizarre he looks that readably confused… he’s… Sans. You cant help but feel suspicious, and a little defensive again.

“Well what makes you think I _wouldn’t_?”

You look down at the pieces of paper you’re stuffing into the bag. “En quote: ‘She’s one of  _them_. She hasn’t done us any good. It’s bad news. Stay away from her’.” You smile away, nice and bitter. “If that doesn’t make it clear that you do not like me and would like to have as little to do with me as possible, we can point out several other instances. Like that time you didn’t tell me that the government was going to legally take you from my ‘custody’ but you seemed just fine with that, so, guess you don’t really want to be here at all let alone involved with my bullshit.”

There’s a silence for quite a while, and you sigh.

“Look, man, it’s not that amazing or surprising. In your position I wouldn’t give a damn either. I don’t expect you to care about- my life, my family, my issues. Fuck man, I barely want to deal with them- and heh, I don’t, really. The things I expect you to care about are you and Papyrus, Sans. And that’s good. You and your brother are the things- fuck- not- not things- fuck, conceptually, I mean, the things that should come first. Not like, actual physical object kind of-”

“Kid, stop.” He holds up both his hands again. “If there’s a human I know that doesn’t think of us as objects or property, stars, it’s you.”

“So what?” you throw up your hands. “That’s a bare given minimum, considering people as _people_. Frankly my family is disgusting for the most part so why the fuck _would_ you give a damn?”

Sans was silent’s for a few moments. “Well if considering people as people is a bare minimum of not being a disgusting asshole, you’re a person too, kid. And frankly I don’t like the strain of life around here- on you or me or pap- when your sister is down the block in a practical penthouse.”

“I don’t _need_ her money. My sister has worked _very hard_ to get what she has, Sans.” You turn to him. “You have any idea how fucked up it is to be a transgender woman in the business world? It’d be hard enough for her as just a woman, man. Humans? Yeah we _suck_. You clearly know that, for the love of god. At the very least I can _not_ mooch off a woman who’s fought tooth and nail for what she got.”

“Well _firstly_ , I don’t know about the trans part, but that sounds exactly the same as you.” He states dryly. “Secondly, apparently, you were just fine with Pap and I mooching off you, not contributing in the least. Does that make us _suck_ like a human?”

You put the bag down, exhaling slowly. You look in his direction. “I don’t _know_ , Sans, is a slave really considered mooching of their owner?”

He smiles at you in a bitterly cheerful way. “I assure you, many would say yes.”

You smile back. “Exactly. Like I said, Humans _suck_.”

“Like _I_ was saying, though, you don’t _suck_ yourself, kid.”

“Hahaha. Ironic.”

He raised a brow at you. A few minutes of silence as he continues to watch you piling up coupons. “Oh.”

You pause, and after a second, you feel your face on _fire_. You glare at him- but he’s smirking his ass off.

“Oh my _god,_ well _now_ you’re an asshole. I meant ironic because I'm a shit human too, you pervert.”

He’s chuckling and you throw up an arm in exasperation. He keeps laughing, before adding, “So you _suck_ , and I'm an _asshole_. A good pair.”

You cringe. “Oh, god, don’t say that. I mean, we’re sort of a trio at this point, so what the hell does that make Papyrus?”

Unfortunately he looks _thoughtful_ at that. “Well, Papyrus _is_ long, so-”

You hold up both your hands sharply, “Sans I swear to god if you use Papyrus’ name and something phallic of any sort in the same sentence I _will_ throw up again.”

He starts laughing- and the front door opens.

“BROTHER! POSSIBLY THE HUMAN! I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HOME!”

You look at Sans. “Don’t you ever steal shit again-” you whisper sharply- Sans stiffens a bit as the collar blinks a green light and you add sharply “that’s not a fucking command that’s a request, Sans.” The collar blinks a blue light. He exhales in relief.

“WOWIE!”

You sigh, too late to take any of it back.

You whisper to him as Papyrus rushes past, screaming about the first thing he’s laid eyes on, “Whelp, Papyrus now has an illegal hobby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was someone reading the earlier chapters and as they go they post these really good editorial notes. quite beautiful.
> 
> frankly they mention the degree of disbelief in finding Papyrus by accident was just a little too high and in most perspectives i can't help but agree. but frankly no other possibilities make sense- not even the ones they recommended. there's little to no way to track down a specific monster unless you're like, a government official with special documents or anything. Honestly there was no way to introduce Papyrus without an incredibly high degree of "Chance" in the mix, which is... unlikely and does kind of cross a threshold of disbelief, i have to agree.
> 
> \----anyway, thoroughly enjoying this person's commentary, and same to rest of you who take your time writing such good long analysis comments!


	52. Alcohol can't heal a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt and Alcohol go hand in hand, like best friends.

Papyrus was, of course, psyched about all the plants.

Of course you couldn’t take them back after he saw them, or when he got that _excited_ , and how much he hyped about how good he would take care of them. Definitely cant take them back- especially considering how you had no way to explain how you ended up having them without getting Sans reported and into a lot of trouble.

You supposed, though, as long as Papyrus was this excited… you could live with the level of thievery that had taken place… Mostly.

When he asked exuberantly where they came from, Sans, that amazing, great little asshole smiled nice and wide, looked at Papyrus tenderly, and said that you had bought them all for him.

While it was ‘fun’ to have Papyrus starry-eyeing you and thanking you and calling you the world’s most generous human…

Guilt.

God it would be nice to let the guilt lay off for a little bit.

You don’t think Sans did that to be harsh- if he had any sort of intention it was probably him hoping that you wouldn’t tell Papyrus that his brother was a thief and to make sure you didn’t go taking things back. And- well he’d succeeded, you had no intention of ruining Papyrus’ joy.

But _guilt_.

You know it wasn’t to be harsh- but you’d really, really meant it once when you’d said, in fact right to Sans’ face, that… you wished Papyrus hated you.

You really don’t deserve this kind of thing. You didn’t buy Papyrus anything, he shouldn’t be calling you selfless and caring.

I mean, you weren’t. Not only were you letting yourself take all this credit for Sans trying to make his brother happy- but you weren’t selfless.

Hell, how long had Sans gone without a god damn shirt on his back because you weren’t willing to lose a few jobs?

You weren’t selfless.

If anything it was horrible that you were going to take any form of credit for Sans doing the only thing in his power to try and make his brother happy, and it was made worse when you thought about just how much all the stuff Sans had stolen was worth. You have no idea how much a single plant costs, let alone… all of… this. Even if they were cheap plants, Sans had stolen a lot of stuff. It would certainly be a noticeable slice in someone’s hard worked profit.

You can’t help being mad at Sans for it. Was it some guy struggling to pay his bills every month and this week he’d finally loose his electricity from the profit loss? Would this cost someone their business? Maybe their home? Maybe a pet would go without a needed vet visit. Maybe no really needed groceries this week. How could Sans do this? It’s horrible.

And then, you feel horrible for being mad at Sans. Maybe he’d of had the money, and legal power to _own_ property, if he wasn’t your god damn slave. Could have bought his brother the things he’d enjoy himself.

You tried very hard to not think about it as you spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning coupon messes and listening to Papyrus cheering while he and Sans installed some of the _probably expensive_ outer-windowsill potting to plant some of the new… _garden_.

You’re pretty certain they’re too busy with that to notice you holding your stomach and stopping once in a while from a dizzy spell. That, at least, you can be grateful for, and you can just keep powering through, cleaning up, listening to Papyrus’ cheerful, excited chatter.

It’s made all the absolute worse whenever a creeping guilt strikes you for something you’re trying even harder not to think about, but it still gnawed up into you.

You’d quite literally just given Sans an order.

Twice the thought creeps up at you despite your furious attempts to avoid it, and you freeze completely in a cold sweat, clutching your stomach. The sick taste of vomit on the very back of your tongue is unpleasant, but again, you think you get away with it unnoticed, accept when you look up after the second time and see Papyrus staring at you point blank.

You shutter despite giving him an encouraging smile that appears to do him no comfort anyway, and immediately he is no longer full of joy and excitement about his new hobbies and is extremely concerned.

Even more to be guilty about, ruining Papyrus’ excitement.

You try for a while to refuse all his concerned questions and give him prompts like ‘so what plants do you think you’ll get to harvest first’ or ‘what stores are you couponing for’. But Papyrus is adamant about trying to be a good friend while Sans stares at you from where he’s sitting on the counter and the feeling of his eyes on you are making the guilt of spoiling this for his brother all the thicker. You want to apologize- you really do- you don’t want to take this excitement from him, but you know apologizing will only make Papyrus more upset.

The final straw of the night, fanastically, is when Papyrus accidentally grabs your arm in his flurry of concern asking if it was perhaps the new job that was the thing making you look so horrible, please, how about we talk about your day and-

In reaction you jolt and drop what you’re holding in your hands as you whip around in response.

It’s then of course that said item, a clay pot, shatters loudly on the ground, and that sound coupled with the spark of adrenaline that always comes with the unexpected contact.

Well. it scares you. It’d scare anyone right? Loud shatter sound, unwanted contact- its- its just _instinct_. Maybe it’s a little bit more- I mean, its not instinct that for a small, small little millisecond you’re no longer in your own home, your- somewhere else. and the looming height before you is not a skeleton, no- no its someone-

 _No_. none of that, no, it’s just _instinct_. Its instinct that puts your pulse to 200, it’s the pure instinct of the sudden loud shatter and the spook of the contact, too close together. Its _instinct_.

It scares you, so bad that you duck, cover your head, and slam backward against the wall with your eyes squeezed shut.

… _instinct_.

It takes you several seconds in the ensuing silence to move your arms a bit, pulse racing, and open your eyes to see Papyrus staring at you, frozen with his hand still in the air where he’d grabbed you and Sans half way jumped off the counter, both staring at you with sockets wider than full moons.

The next several seconds is full of shaky laughs that start from you, then nervous laughter from them, and then quickly you start apologizing for breaking one of Papyrus’ gifts a little too frantically whilst Papyrus also tries to clean up quicker than you can try to help as he assures you it is certainly fine.

With that final little straw you are just… out of energy, and hurry to your room for the night the next second you get. You can feel both of them staring at your back as you retreat.

Face down in your bed, you reflect.

What a good way to ruin such an otherwise great day. You’re a little bummed you didn’t get to tell them all about your job, but then remember that it’s established Sans shouldn’t and probably doesn’t give a damn, and that Papyrus enjoys his hobbies better when you aren’t there fucking up his day with your fucking anxiety. You even lament briefly about being a bit disappointed you hadn’t had the time to tell Grillby about how excited you’d been about the new job and company, but then remember Grillby is a slave and the only reason he’d listen is because he’s a slave bartender and has to.

You finally climb out of your bed and crawl into your closet and retrieve the box of bottles. A shitty birthday gift from your shitty brother on your shitty 21st birthday. You’re so thankful for your shitty brother’s shitty birthday gift as you immediately down two of the little 1-ounce bottles of this really shitty Everclear. It tastes like shit and that’s good because right now you need a good 95% shit drink. What dumbass big brother gives their 21 year old sister a massive box of 190 proof alcohol? He’d joked you’d never be able to drink this stuff. Little did he know he was supplying a future somewhat alcoholic who’s now twirling one of their ‘protective’ dagger blades in their other hand. Ahahah.

And then, as you huddle in the closet and drink yourself under, you start to remember, on top of it all, that it doesn’t really matter how good this job is. It’ll probably be as temporary as all the others. It’ll be a matter of time before Kal or Koyol or one of the hundred other people working there sit you down and start to remind you that you are _horribly_ unfit to work there, or anywhere really, and you’ll get fired. Like always. So it doesn’t fucking matter, right? A good job? Are you kidding? Like you could ever just have a good, easy job? They only wanted you there for your _background_ , right? Which background; the long history of firings, the list of bullshittery in your files, the evaluations that declare you incapable and unfit? Oh they are just _ready_ to fire you, oh it’s fucking brilliant.

Oh you even have to take _Sans and Papyrus_ in tomorrow! Oh, fucking, joy. You can’t wait. You’re already going to be fired, so soon. Because you can’t wait to meet this big progressive company until _after_ you accept a slave as a bribe and buy another. Oh, fucking, joy! It’ll be so great to lose your job so soon- you won’t lose it because your horribly functioning or bad for work environments or anything like that, oh no, this time you’ll be fired particularly because you at your fundamental core are generally a horrible person and own _slaves_.

Slaves you don’t get nice things for, slaves you order around, slaves who hate you or at least one that does and one that _should_ , slaves who’s stuff you drop and break, slaves you make _work_ for you, slaves you almost rented out for sex once.

You have to slice up your good arm just a good little bit for that one, god, what a horrible fucking person you really, really fucking are. It doesn’t hurt enough to feel like what you amply deserve and are briefly considering maybe driving it into your hip hard enough to scrape bones when you’re distracted by a sudden reminder that you haven’t even told the brothers that they have to come to work with you again.

You leave your room after about two hours of sitting in the dark, drinking a number three of the little bottles that are so fucking small its _shitty_ , choking down a sob or two as you walk down the hall, out of your god damn mind, and find Sans and Papyrus cuddled together in the apparently clean living room on the couch.

And that to the fucking list: slaves who you make clean your home while you lay in bed and do nothing or swallow toxically high alcohol drinks in your closet.

They stare at you- and again, you’re out of your god damn mind, standing there, hiccupping for breath, and tell them, “oh, but the way, I have to take you both in to work tomorrow to meet my boss.” Except, you’re so far out of your mind, that instead of stopping there like you should, you continue to inform them that you will in fact be losing your job because you are in fact horrible, and you use them, and you own them, and you are very sorry that you make their life so horrible, and even sorrier that you are going to lose your job tomorrow after they tell your bosses just how horrible you are an that you’re very sorry that you’re going to lose the apartment and have nowhere to live, and that your very sorry that you ruined papyruses’ garden fun tonight, too.

You hold up a fourth tiny, clear bottle in the air, and make a toast to the only other sound int the room- a soft batter of liquid dripping on the floor from your arm. You announce, laughing and in tears, that you’re glad you met them and that when you either die or the government takes them from you because you’re bankrupt, whichever comes first, you hope they end up somewhere better than with you in your failed attempt at helping them.

You promptly empty the bottle down your throat with your not-bleeding arm-

oh how messy, your ruining the floors in the room they just cleaned. And you called _Sans_ the asshole!

You laugh and repeat that ‘joke’ out loud for them, too, laughing again, pretending their laughing with you, spinning the knife in your bloody hand once.

You don’t remember which one of them asked you, or what exactly one of them asked you, but it was something about if you want to come over there and sitting with them… and you dropped your tiny fucking bottle on the floor and it clattered, and then you started crying so hard that you could feel your head vibrating- or maybe that was just you shaking, and you dropped the shitty knife too.

You just held your arms, stood there, and cried… and then your memory skips and your sitting on the couch with a warm, glowing orange color that makes everything stop hurting for a little while, and Sans is taking a nap against your shoulder- or maybe he’s just staying quiet and not moving or something… another skip and your all wrapped in big blankets, watching some shitty movie about a zebra that wants to be race horse while Sans reminds you to keep drinking your water or…

And…

Now you were being woken up on the couch by Papyrus that next morning who was handing you your side bag and lunch box for work and a set of clothes, Sans leaning on the wall by the door and taking a nap standing up, you with no memory after drink number 3 in the dark of your bedroom.

He assures you, warmly and firmly, that you’ll have a good day at work today and that you will enjoy work today.

…

…

…

…

time for work, I guess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good golly i love comments


	53. The Call, Malfunctioned, I Am Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> panic disorders and PTSD really get in the way of things sometimes. now really wasnt the time- for double the reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy im excited for this upcoming arc.

“So, what do you think is actually going to happen when we get there?”

You look over your shoulder, where the skeleton brothers walk hand in hand behind you.

Hm. Well, Sans asks a fair question.

“…I'm honestly not all that sure.” You come to a stop. You’re not far from the restaurant, but you’ve just passed the big skyscraper where you’d met Koyol. “…i… don’t actually know which place I'm supposed to take you both, now that I think about it. Neither of them mentioned that. Just that I have to bring you guys in.”

“PERHAPS WE SHOULD TRY THE ONE PLACE WHERE YOU MET THE GREEN HUMAN FIRST?”

There’s a certain tone of voice to Papyrus, every time he’s spoken to you. All morning. It’s concerningly… concerned.

You nod, ignoring his concern and the concern that you feel in response. Your concern should be saved for trying to keep your job.

You’re getting sick of the word Concerned. It wasn’t so long ago that you didn’t care about anything, now you’re always… _concerned._

Your little group turns, waits until traffic comes to a standstill, and then slides between cars to cross the street. You walk back a few buildings and find yourself pausing to cran your neck and try to see to the top of the high reaching building. You can’t help wondering once again, if the whole thing belongs to the RS.

Papyrus makes an awed sound as he, too, looks at the tall height, and when the three of you enter he’s chattering at his full outdoor-voice volume with Sans that one day they should get a room that high up so they could see the whole city.

You approach the front desk, listening to Sans joke back that maybe they’d see the stars better from up there, too, and Papyrus awes that perhaps they’d even be above the rain clouds.

You tell the front desk worker your here to speak with Koyol. She asks if you had an appointment. Your about to say that you aren’t sure-

“OH, my friend, my friend, there you are!”

Ah, Kal has saved the day.

The brothers have gone quiet as you turn around, and the dark skinned man with the red hair and what looks like the same clashing purple croptop and matching shorts from the last time you saw him is jogging to your side. You wonder if Kal looks the same every day as you smile politely, and he smiles back.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to his height- and, you can confirm now, he _is_ taller than Papyrus.

There’s a much smaller, blue haired woman with dark glasses and a dark suit following just behind him. Her pale skin is threaded with bright white marks- you recognize what that is; that’s what happens if you’ve been struck by lightning. You knew a kid in high school like that; you cant remember what that was called, though. She’s totally expressionless- not in the neutral set of your current companies’ CEO and his inherent _unmoving_ face muscles, but more like… she’s just serious. You don’t know what’s more… intimidating, the actual expressionless-ness of your boss, or the serious blankness of… this woman.

If she’s going to be working with you, you’ll have to add another tally to the “strange coworkers” chart.

Kal sees that you’ve noticed her. “Ah, my friend, yes. This is Mona. As I explained yesterday, she practically runs the finances- of the resteraunt, of the RS, of all its programs. Mona, this is our recent recruit we’re here to see.”

He introduces you by name and this woman, you can tell, is looking you over pointedly. Her glasses are thick and blank- you’d think she may be blind if she wasn’t looking at you so hard you could feel her eye contact physically touching you.

Finally she nods and looks down at her clip board. When she speaks, she has an Asian accent. “Welcome. I assume that these are Sans and Papyrus, your requested counterparts?”

“Ah, Mona, your manners are _terrible_.” Kal practically growls at her. She seems unfazed. He sighs in a bitter sort of way. “We don’t speak about people like they aren’t here. Please, a little courtesy in professional mannerisms.” He scowls before turning brightly on the heel of his prosthetic leg. “Ah, boys! Sans and Papyrus, Yes? Ah, we are very pleased you were able to come today!”

Sans has become the Sans-who-hates-humans version of himself to the mark. He merely levels Kal with that hateful, empty-socket look. Considering what you know about Kal’s stickler manner behavior, you can already feel your job slipping away.

Papyrus, bless him, he’s thoroughly charmed.

“OH!” his gasp’s volume almost makes you wince, seeing as you’re in the lobby of your workplace’s HQ, but, bless him, he remembers to use his inside voice. “You must be the boss that is the very nice one, as you aren’t green! I, the Great Papyrus, am very glad to meet you!!”

Kal turns a bit dark in the cheek, laughing, “Ah? Nice? Oh, does my new little underling speak positively of me?” He looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a wink.

Holy shoot.

“VERY MUCH SO! Wowie! We haven’t gotten to hear much about our human’s work place yet, but! It sounds exciting, meeting so many new people!”

Kal points jubilantly at Papyrus like he’s encouraging an excitable kid as you move over to San’s side, concerned that he’s still glaring like a hell demon. “Hey now! Flattery and a few good words more, and I might just hire you, too! We always need some new workers in the force!”

“AH! Well actually-”

Suddenly Papyrus stops, and for a second, you don’t know why. But both he and Sans give a sudden shiver, and look behind themselves.

Your tall, green haired, incredibly intimidating boss has appeared on the floor.

“Who the hell is that?” Sans mutters to you.

“Kyle. Big boss.” You answer back in a whisper. “Why?”

“…later.”

And the major CEO is soon there, standing at his full height and you can’t tell if he’s staring at you, or the skeletons.

“I'm glad that you three have arrived. Please, I run low on time this morning, so we must head quickly for these interviews.”

“Right we are. Alright, folks, please, the Elevators are this way, come along, the rest of the board staff are already waiting on us, come on, dears!” and Kal begins to rally the group for the elevator.

.

.

.

.

.

You, and both Sans and Papyrus find yourselves taken in through the special elevator that Kal has to use a special key card to summon, and Koyol is the one that presses the button that goes right to the very top floor. The whole floor, from what you can see, is a few large rooms; offices. As you pass the doors, you see they have names- you pass by one that says Kal’s name, and then one that says Mona, among other doors, before your lead all the way to the end, to a door with Koyol on it.

Koyol’s office is massive and full of countless notes. He asks you to wait a moment as he disappears into the mass of notebooks, papers, maps… It’s a positive mess, and a very complex one you can tell is an organized clutter rather than your Boss just being a slob.

He re-emerges and locks the door again, now toting a bag, several notebooks sticking out.

He motions your group to a door on the left of his office. Meeting Room. Mona has already unlocked it and is opening the door, and waits as everyone files in; then she leaves.

You and the skeletons are directed to sit on three chairs against the wall. Koyol and Kal both sit at a table that’s set to face you.

You cant help but wonder if they set this room up specifically for this interview; you doubt they have so many intimidating interviews on the normal day.

Mona returns with a pair of people in her wake. Some kid who looks maybe 16, or even 15, in clothing that looks vaguely Indian- like, Native American Indian, with feathers in his hair. A tall and strangely proportioned woman in a dark pink sweater dress with a half-shaved head of pastel pink hair- she has a cane, shes blind- you know that immediately because she has no eyes; just smooth skin that dips. You wonder if she was born that way.

You also wonder why everyone that seems to work for this company is so. Bizarre.

They all take seats at the table, on either of Koyol’s sides; said CEO is scribbling in his notebooks. He has set three out on the table. A Blue one, a Red one, and the Purple one that you’ve seen before- you know that one is yours. You can only guess that, now, both the brothers have one each.

Papyrus sits tall and excited on Sans’ other side from you, grinning away. Sans seems to share the nerve that’s building in your chest; you can’t really tell other than the soft tap, tap, tap, tap of his fingers occasionally tapping on his knee. Otherwise he stares between each of the humans with an angry shade of distrust and hate.

You cross your arms, leaning back, and take a moment to look at each of the managers calmly. Sans leans back beside you.

You wait, as the managers settle, whispering between one another. Kal laughs at something the pink one whispers to them, Mona leans over to Koyol to tell him something as she looks over her clip board, the younger kid scoots a little closer to Mona and whispers a question.

Finally, your group is addressed. Koyol calls out each of your names once, pointing to each of you. You aren’t sure is he’s asking if each of you are the appointed name, or, if maybe he’s introducing all three of you to the rest of his staff.

Either way, when he finishes, he motions to Mona.

The blue haired woman nods once briefly, before she addresses you with stern expression.

“Where did you obtain your monsters?”

Your gaze flickers only briefly to the brothers on your left, before back to look at her. “Sans was given to me on the street by an older man. I met Papyrus at a mall auction.”

“Did you purchase both of your monsters and obtain them legally?”

“… I purchased Papyrus.  Sans was legally signed over.” Admitting it like that makes your head spin. You lean back further into your seat.

“Are all payments regarding the purchase of your monsters paid in full?”

“No- I'm still. Trying to pay off Papyrus’… bill.”

Instead of Mona, its Kal whos asks a question next. “Are you aware of the RS’s grant assist, where should an employee be treating their monster to an appropriate standard, they will receive assistance where needed to help the employee support their monsters?”

You pause.

He smiled at you. Wide and toothy.

“I- no, I had not- no, I did not know of it.”

Mona makes a bit of a face. “We will see to financial statuses and such when we’ve assessed the care of Sans and Papyrus.”

Koyol raises a hand slightly off the table. You practically feel Sans shift beside you. He seems uncomfortable every time Koyol moves.

No less, Koyol mutters something to Mona that you can’t make out, specifically because Koyol’s voice is just so low in pitch that when he speaks quiet, there’s just little to no chance you can make out his accent. Maybe he wasn’t even speaking English at that point?

“So!” Kal says out loud, despite them. “Papyrus, yes? How do _you_ like your human?”

Papyrus perks up excitedly for his chance to snatch the floor and be the one to speak. “I like our human! Very much so! They are my second favorite human, and they are a very kind human, if sneaky and very secretive.”

You wince a little. Ah, yes. Papyrus and his brutal honesty. Sans chuckles just a bit.

“Sneaky, eh?” the pink one leans forward a little. “How so?”

Papyrus waved an arm lightly. “Oh, the same sneaky way as my brother, sometimes. But they also sneak about at night time- what do they think they are? A vampire?! Humans need sleep and while I find them admirable for not being lazy all night, dear human, you really need to get more sleep! Even I sleep more than you do!”

“What exactly do you do all night?” Kal looks at you. “Merely for the sake of not hiring a professional hitman, or something.”

You chuckled once. You’ve been prepared for a while to be asked, but you’d expected Papyrus would be the one to finally demand an answer.

“Odd jobs.” You shrug. “Same as always. Just whatever gets a little more cash in my pocket.”

“odd jobs,” Koyol repeats it slowly, just loud enough that you can discern the words from one another. His pencil is tracing something in his notebook. “Are these jobs required of you, prior to your job with us, to support yourself, and prior to the presence of either monster in your home?” He spoke louder that time, to ask the questions clearly.

Before Sans and Papyrus? “…Well, I worked every day before them, yes. Weeks and weekends. But, I suppose, not the nights. Not for a while, at least.”

“So, prior to the brother’s company, had it been longer than a year since you needed to work nights to support yourself and necessary transactions?”

“…about… 6 months.” You answer. “6 months before meeting Sans.”

“And after Sans, how long until you began working night jobs along with your day jobs?”

“Not for over a year- just around meeting Papyrus. A few jobs before meeting him, then much more steadily afterward.”

“Have you always worked these night jobs specifically to meet an ends meet?”

“Because I needed the money, yes.”

“The money goes to supporting you and the brothers. All money you make at work. Yes or no?”

Your fingers tap your knee. “yes.” You feel- rather- you _sense_ Papyrus’ disappointment. He knows you’re lying and you can _feel_ his disappointment. 

Koyol motions to Mona, who continues the questions.

“What sort of purchases have you made in regards to your monsters, outside of initial purchases involved in ownership?”

You close your eyes to think a moment. “Well- legal payments. Doctors appointments. Registration fees. Domestic-housing premises payments. Professional registration skills.”

After a moment, Sans adds on to what you said in an exasperated tone. “And _non requirement_ purchases. Food, clothes. Hobbies. Entertainment. Recreation.”

You glance at him, and he just gestures an arm in the air and gives you a look even more exasperated then he sounded. “You’re forgetting this is an assessment on how well you treat us or what? They aren’t asking specific legal stuff, kid.”

“Let us pose it to you then, Sans.” Kal leans forward on the table, hands folding neatly. Sans turns his head to look at him- he’s not strictly _hatred_ in expression, not now. There’s a muted seriousness that’s unreadable in the skeleton’s face, and Kal has it mirrored, far more than when he’d addressed Papyrus. “How do _you_ feel about your human?”

Sans leaned back in his chair, arms crossing. “What do you want me to say?”

Challenging as ever.

“Just how you feel. Would you rather be in her home, or elsewhere?”

“Think I’d rather be back home.”

“Unfortunately Snowdin is monster free and under study, my friend, Home is home to no one.”

Sans looks down right furious. Perhaps because Kal seems to know where ‘home’ is. Maybe because his home is under human control. Maybe something that you don’t know- because you aren’t Sans.

And then there was static in your ears.

Sans was saying something to Kal. He looked angry. You didn’t hear.

You sit, perfectly still. If you don’t move, don’t acknowledge it, the static… might fade quicker.

Kal said something back. So did the pink woman with no eyes.

Papyrus said something. Sans said something to Papyrus then to the table of humans.

You didn’t hear any of it, eyes round as you look between each speaker. You don’t know what was being said. At such an important time, you can’t hear. The static is deafening, as if you _were_ deaf.

Kal talks, Koyol talks, Sans talks, Papyrus talks, Mona talks, Sans Talks, Koyol talks, Sans talks again- that time you think to you- Koyol was looking at you too- they all are. You just sit there.

Static fills the air. Papyrus has stood and he stands next to you, he looks… _concerned_. Really, really concerned. Scared, maybe.

His mouth opens.

It’s not _just_ static, as his mouth opens- _clicking._

The sounds of something and the way it speaks.

You don’t know what the words are- and the longer you stare at Papyrus, leaning further and further away as deep into your chair as you can. even when Papyrus has stopped talking in your vision you still hear that- voice. That clicking.

You lean far enough away that it takes you a little while to notice you’re leaning not merely away from Papyrus, but the pressure your leaned against is Sans’ shoulder.

You jerk when he shifts slightly, and look back at him.

He’s saying something but, once again, all you hear- is- well, nothing. Nothing at all. The clicking is quiet.

Static. The lack of.

Something’s behind him, though.

Tall. Dark. a shadow.

It’s not the static man, it’s not the one- the one you _know_ you’ve seen but can’t remember _seeing_. It’s not a memory you can’t remember- it’s not the man who brings the Static.

Something is behind Sans, and as you Stare at Sans’ face, vaguely aware of the figure in your peripheral. He must- see something in your expression. As he stares back at you those pin prick lights shrink and little beads of a pale blue sweat develop on his skull and he tries to say something to you again.

Something is right behind him, even if you could hear him you wouldn’t be able to concentrate or focus on his words, you know it’s _right_ behind him, someone’s _right behind him_ -

You must have been talking- you can’t hear your own words, and you don’t know what you said, but both of Sans hands raise- he’s trying to hush you- you’ve seen him do this movement before but don’t remember when. You can’t look at them but in the edge of your vision you see his hands move. Just the same way you _see him_ behind Sans I nthe very edge of your-

Something touches your shoulder- brushes it- and the pressure bends a beam in your mind. Your hands lunge before you and fist hard into the jacket and hood resting on Sans’ shoulders, over the edge of the two arms of both of your chairs you almost yank him over, raised at your hackles like a cat ready to attack something. Sans’ head hits your chest and your arm has wrapped around his skull in a protective hold and your vision flickers- a head of pretty, sandy blonde hair is cradled to your chest and he’s too tall to cover and protect, awkwardly hunched over the stairs in the cold and dark, and you look up against the flow of the harsh artificial yellow light flooding from the door two stairs above you to see that _face---_

Your vicious glare falls on an empty space in the room.

No one is there.

Your other hand- flexed and clenching tight around the single blade you’d allowed yourself to bring, lowers from a ready attack position. Your eyes search where he’d stood- where you’d known he’d been.

“kid.”

No static.

“Kid.”

Just Sans.

“Kid, I need ya to let go of me.”

You’re arm releases almost obediently from the firm cradle that held his head to your chest. You only search the room- a suddenly too empty room, where had they all gone? The table is empty of people. Where is _he_? The room is empty. The only people left in it are you, Sans- and Papyrus is behind you.

Sans has raised from the cradle and you barely noticed him move. You don’t look at him until he says, clear and calm, “There’s no one here.”

When you do look at him, there’s a cautious look in his eye. Guarded. “Put that down, alright?”

You don’t know what he means until your hand tightens a bit around it, and you look at the serrated steak knife.

You check your hip- where it was, where you’d pulled it from. You’re not surprised that when you’d torn it out, you’d torn the waist of your jeans, and there’s a slowly growing stain of red seeping up the torn cloth.

“Jesus kid.” Sans groans a little.

“I CAN FIX THAT!”Papyrus says quickly- he was behind you but now he is at your side, suddenly finding himself with something he’s capable of helping with.

You almost draw away from his hands- engulfed with magic suddenly- but they don’t touch you. Merely hover just above your side.

“I- CAN FIX BOTH! I WILL FIX YOUR PANTS LATER, HUMAN!”

You look at him. Your eyes are still wide and you’re still… lost.

Where did he go? Where did he go?

“Kid please put that- here, hand it to me, okay?” You look at him, he’s holding out a hand. You look at him a moment and exhale a breath you’ve been holding too long before resting your knife in his palm. He sighs a little in relief. “Thanks.”

No- no, the static isn’t gone but it is very, very quiet. You know that because you suddenly hear the third voice. It clicks at you in a tone you don’t know. Your head naturally tries to tilt away from it, but its not coming from a distinct place, so your head just tilts sideways a bit.

Symbols.

You don’t see them- no, they’re in your head. Burning.

They make up a word you don’t know- at first- but- like before, while you can’t _read them_ , like before when you saw the name Undyne- you can’t read it- but you _know_ what those letters say.

It says _I'm sorry_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i've been dipped off for a bit folks- life R E A L L Y sucks


	54. Buddy Systems Save Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when going into the dark, it's wise to bring a light.

Kal steps back into the room after a while- apparently he and the other… ‘managers’ had headed a suggestion from Papyrus to take a quick break when you stopped responding.

Sans is making up bullshit that you can vaguely hear. It’s not really all that much bullshit, it’s… what you told him, and what he’s figured.

“She gets really bad migraines.” He says, like you told him once on the bus. “I don’t think she can hear very well when she does.”

Papyrus chimes in, “I SUPPOSE THE STRESS OF OUR INTERVIEW MADE IT WORSE TODAY, PURPLE HUMAN.”

You’re still sitting in your seat, somewhat slouched against the armrest. Papyrus has taken Sans’ seat beside you, and you don’t know when it happened, but you’d leaned into his shoulder. Sans is standing and talking to Kal, just a bit away.

You’re not sure what you missed while you had a ‘migraine’, but Sans is distinctly less dangerously angry then when you’d lost your senses.

Still not very friendly- in fact, he demands that the interview is over in a very unfriendly tone of voice, and that its time you went home. Something about needing sleep, too.

Kal seems quick to agree. “We’ve come to an agreement that she has your care in mind, anyway.” He says. “That is all we needed for now.”

The static still hasn’t really left, not even as Papyrus goads you into standing up and the brothers walk you out of building on either of your sides like escorts, or guardians. It’s still not gone as you walk down the streets, a far off absence, a lack in the back of your hearing.

You can still hear the city around you, still hear both brother’s footsteps on your either side, still hear an angry honking somewhere, a stray dove or pigeon crooning, you can hear everything- that absence of the static is there, though, as if it were… a sound you could hear, underneath everything else, underneath normal sounds.

And just like the static is not gone, neither is… the clicking voice.

It talks in such a strange way, and you cant really hear him- not in the way you hear everything else. It doesn’t mingle with other sounds, is not drowned out by a man who shouts across the street or someone talking on a phone as they walk past. That strange voice composed of sounds like a mouse or a keyboard typing or something hard tapping on glass or metal, it exists only _inside_ the static, the lack. They are separate, and they are under the normal sounds.

Still, he- he?- says words. Words you can’t understand. What he’s talking about, what he means, what he’s saying- you both don’t understand, and don’t know _why_. Sometimes he speaks and you know you’ve known the words. When you try and remember the words you know you’ve understood, you can’t… _remember_ them exactly, but a part of you knows them. You’d know them if reminded, but you cannot retrieve the information on your own.

He’s still talking and you don’t know what he’s saying, and the more you strain to… ‘listen’ into the static, the more urgent the clicking grows, but it can’t get any louder- everything around you, this city, it’s all so loud, the nothingness where he can speak only exists when sound doesn’t, there’s so little room for the static, for the clicking-

“So it’s still there, huh?”

The interruption is addressed to you and that’s what jerks you out of trying to listen to it.

As you look at Sans, you’re head rights itself, and you realize it’d tilted sideways again; as if trying to lean in to hear something, but with no distinct direction.

Sans is looking at you slightly, the corner of his gaze tilted toward you. He’s standing on your right- strange, he was on your left when you exited the RS building.

When you stare perhaps too long at him, or maybe because you didn’t respond verbally, he probes further, “The migraine?”

You blink, slowly, and look ahead of you at the feet of a stranger walking on the concrete.

Urgent clicking and typing and chatter continues.

“…yeah.” you answer. You think for a moment you sound a bit… dreary. “Bit… weird. Never had headaches like this kind before.”

Shadow men, headaches, dizziness, slippy memories… these, yes, these are familiar things you’ve dealt with most of your life. You’d… admittedly been doing better the couple years before you met Sans. Then they’d gotten worse again.

But the complete erasure of memories, the Man You Cant See Right, the static, the… voice, its language, the symbols, these things… these were new.

“Maybe it’s the exhaustion!” Papyrus put out loudly. Concerningly concerned. his tone is full of it, as he keeps his voice lower for the sake of the busy crowd. You think he does that specifically because he’s trying not to embarrass you by shouting your dirty laundry. You thank him internally.

“They don’t have much to do with how much I sleep, pap.” You shake your head. That’s partially incorrect- in fact, the shadow people had always been a _cause_ of you not sleeping enough, and in turn they got worse. But the rest of it- it’s not related. The voice. The static. The words. The Man.

It feels as if its yelling at you. The clicking is a panic, a crescendo of varied sounds. A warning? An alert? A sign?

You feel your pulse racing, and you’ve no idea why.

“I- think we need to stop.” You say, slowly.

In either side of the edge of your vision, you can see the brothers exchange a glance.

You just raise a hand. “No- I'm fine- just- lets. Stop… a moment.” You look up from the grayed sidewalk and look around the street. You aren’t far from home, just a block away. Solar’s is down the road. “Let’s- uh- stop- up there. We’ll all get lunch. Yeah?”

“Kid, you’re sweating a storm.”

Your hands are clammy and your face is cold. You already know you are when Sans informs you. The sky is overcast and the air is brisk and chilly, so it’s bizarre and you know it’s a bad lie, “I'm just running a little hot.”

“…” they say nothing.

The three of you walk up the side of the road, beeline for Solar’s- they walk fast like they want to get there as quick as possible and you, naturally, match their pace.

But the clicks are still screaming at you when you reach the door, even as Papyrus opens it, and Sans follows behind you as you walk in, Papyrus tailing quickly. You move to the counter and they join you.

You don’t sit.

The static is no bigger or smaller, and it’s frustrating that the clicking is the same as on the street- still as subtle, still as incomprehensible, despite the quieter atmosphere of an early-brunch-hour Solar’s compared to the street.

Grillby has already come to meet you at the counter, having spotted your little skeletal trio as you entered. There’s only a couple tables taken- a few local families you can vaguely recognize between your headaches getting late breakfasts or early lunches, and his bar is empty; he’s not busy in the least, never is this early in  the day.

You squint at the fire monster for several, long seconds. He’s steadily unsettled by it. Further confused when you don’t move to sit at the bar, and his head tilts to shoot a look at Sans and Papyrus- the latter is standing over you and his hands fidget fretfully whilst his brother has sat and is staring at you- as normal.

“…Does Solar’s have a back door?” you finally ask, spontaneously.

Grillby… nods slowly.

“…and…Alleyway. There’s an alleyway back there, right?”

An even slower, more hesitant nod.

“…do you mind if I…?” you trail off, and, Grillby looks again to Sans and Papyrus. You raise both your hands when Sans slowly starts to slide out of his seat and to his feet. “-no, no… I'm fine. You two… yes, take… take an order from Grillby, yes? Get something to eat.”

“Kid you’re really startin’ to worry me.”

“No!” you insist, raising both hands higher, shaking your head. You startle him and he slides back into his seat, surpised.

You breathe in and fight a nauseated wave of your headache. “Nah. nah, its- its fine. Just- order for yourselves. And- uh, I’ll have my usual, grillbz. Just. I need to…”

Static. Urging static.

“Check something.” You finish lamely, head swirling.

Sans opens his mouth to say something. Grillby settles a glass in his hand on the table with a hush-inducing _clink_.

“………The back is… this way. I will come with you.”

Grillby gestures at the brothers to sit at the counter. Sans slowly slides back into his chair completely, and Papyrus hesitantly leaves your side to join him.

They watch, closely, as you move to the end of the counter, Grillby meeting you at it’s end, wiping his hands with his usual cloth as if they were wet or something. He gestures you in front of him through the door to the back room and holds it open, and it swings shut behind him on its hinges, flapping back and forth as it closes, since it’s not got a door knob or a catch.

“Don’t even ask.” You mumble, gruffly, before he gets the chance. You don’t… know an answer for any questions.

Grillby crackles behind you. You can imagine him huffing in exasperation.

He walks you, slow like he’s hoping you’ll change your mind and ask to go back to the dining area, toward a door that’s tucked back out of sight behind a fridge in the kitchen. He opens it outward, and it’s a narrow little back alley; wide enough for a car, with a few dumpsters- Solars is not the only business that leads out to this alley. Its cold enough and not busy enough that some of the early snows are in a mush at the corner of the hard asphalt and the old brick or concrete buildings.

You step out without a second thought, head swirling with distant clicks. Begging, maybe. Still they chide like an omen- like danger, like warning signs.

You’ve been through these alleys before. You hate these kind- they wind like mazes, and while this one strip of alley is big, enough for a car to get the dumpsters via a dump truck, other alleys in this maze are not. You hate your own area of town for it; this area of the city is known for these mazes of alleys- who really _needs_ a maze of narrow dark alleys? Its _asking_ for crime.

You swear you literally scare the absolute shit out of Grillby when you abruptly grab his arm with both hands just as he steps into the dark alley next to you. He actually jumps, which you’d find funny, were you not currently engulfed with a panic and a reminding, searing pain in seemingly random places over your skin.

Through a nagging paranoia that around each turn is a shadowy figure- a mugger in wait or someone else you don’t want to see- you can still hear the same static.

Pleading.

And yet,

Danger.

Grillby at the very least breaks up some shadows with his glow, and you find yourself relieved that the fire composing his exposed arm is not charring your skin- as you’d often wondered if it would- and that it actually is something solid to grab.

He doesn’t say a word- he gets a hint. After all, if you’d had anyone called friend, you’d call it Grillby, and you know he knows you don’t really do the touching people thing. You’d thank him for letting you cling, if you weren’t so unsettled by the contact itself to not mention it.

For no particular- or known- reason, your head has been dead set looking down the left side of the alley, and carefully you step off the stoup from Solar’s back door onto the old, crushed snow covered asphalt. Grillby steps after you with no pull and comes willingly, which you are _so_ very thankful for.

You take a few brisk paces down the alley, passing those narrow little clips between buildings, just wide enough for a person to shoulder into. You’d read stories in papers plenty of times- animals like strays or rats or feral animals from the outskirts make dens in these alleys, they’ve found bodies wedge deep in them- sometimes people who got stuck in the especially narrow ones, sometimes disposed of after who knows what killed them- and how the slightly wider ones were used by the cities’ homeless as shelter.

You don’t see a lot as you pass them- garbage, dirty snow wedged into them, nondescript garbage bags, wads of unknown.

You’d just passed the 5th one on the left and were about to glance into the 6th when your steps stop, jerking Grillby to a halt as well that he hadn’t expected. He makes a soft crackling sound at the jostle, but turns with you to the alley. It’s not very narrow- perhaps 3 or 4 feet wide. But it’s dark, until Grillby is in sight of it.

His warm orange glow casts light over the crunches ice and snow mixed with dirt and whatever garbage. A bag or two of discarded waste. Theres One little side alley off this one, a turned corner into darkness, narrow and dark with shadows unbroken from the angle of Grillby’s light source.

You move toward it, inching slow. You release your- probably slightly painful- death grip on the monster as you’re about to step in, but his hand jerks up and grabs your arm by the sleeve of your hoodie. You jump and knock your head on the wall.

He crackles an apology, but, pulls you back out away from the sidealley with a firm tug.

He checks the side of your head briefly to make sure you didn’t hit it too hard, before giving you a ‘look’.

“…I gotta.”

His look intensifies.

“…you _don’t_ gotta.”

Sarcastic wave of his hand.

“I know ya wouldn’t let me on my own.”

He points at you.

“I still gotta.”

He sighs and puts a hand to his face. his flame flickering a bit.

He nods, but points again at you firmly. You give him a single, stressed chuckle, before he makes a point of turning his head at the alley and sighing deeply.

You shake your head, and edge up to the alley, and start to inch back into it.

The static suddenly goes completely silent, cutting off a flurry of loud clicks just as they started to screech, louder than before, as loud as they could possibly have gotten in the confines of the absence.

One single line of symbols that you can _just barely_ make out, your only warning, like words imprinted in your mind, before something flies past your head.

Something big, blindingly blue.

A warning sign.

A spear.

 _T H E   U N D Y I N G_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if i could just get a damn job id have time to focus on these stories im so sorry folks


	55. Daring you to do it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> instinct.  
> Flight.  
> Fight.  
> Freeze.

You don’t lack fight instincts. Not in the least- while you normally tend to freeze rather than fight or flee, you don’t lack instinct.

Perhaps that could be said today, when you tore out a blade and pulled it on a mystery figure- that was never real, was not really there- but even if the threat hadn’t been real, the reaction was Fight.

You have fighting instincts in specific situations.

It would appear that glowing magical weapons flying past your face is not one of those situations. Your instinct was not fight- that’s probably good. You cant really punch a magic spear and expect to win.

Unfortunately it is _also_ not flee. Not that running would have been too successful- in the alley, there’s little to run for; as if you were a fish in a barrel, or in this case a person in a walled up alley, running would not stop you from being an easy target.

It’s also, interestingly enough, not freeze- your usual reaction.

Your immediate reaction, once the lightning blue object has embedded itself point down at least a foot into the asphalt, is to grab your dear friend.

Albeit this leaves your back exposed to the threat- and this… gesture doesn’t do much considering Grillby is taller than you and can still be struck- and if that spear can pierce the floor, it could certainly pierce you and hit him…

No reaction is, frankly, good enough.

Grillby has a… distinctly more useful reaction. It’s just a hair slower than your own reflex, but far more useful, and when your eyes crack open there’s an erupted, orange, fire-esc… orb around you. a barrier of thin, somewhat transparent flames.

There’s an upside-down heart, two dimensional, flat, and… frankly unrealistic looking, and it’s a bright green color, floating in front of the two of you; rather, infront of Grillby, and behind you, seeing as your back is to it.

The consecutive 4 spears that had followed the first one have bounced off the wall of the sphere like toothpicks thrown at an orange-tinted glass window.

Grillby’s defensive instinct is far more valuable then anything you could have done- fight, flight or otherwise.

The ground under you is glowing, you realize suddenly, the bright light reflecting off the sleek dark vest’s fibers, casting a cyan glow on his white buttoned shirt. You look down at the glowing street pavement- the light eliminates from both within each piece and yet from underneath it, the same glow and vibrant color of the spears Grillby is focusing on repelling with his dome of magic.

You have no idea what the fuck is going on, or what it means, but the ground is glowing in a circle, the same distinct color of those spears- - _it can’t be good._

You push him but he doesn’t budge- Grillby is light, you know that, you know it because Apollo told you he only weighs, like, 40 pounds; it doesn’t make sense that he won’t budge when you _push_ him. you push again but he’s rooted to the spot like with an unseen force.

“FUCKING MOVE GRILLBZ-!”

You give him another hard shove, just barely seeing the light in his metal, disgusting monster collar flicker, and a… _pained_ sounding noise crackle from his flames- the upside down heart turns white just as you shove with _all_ your might, and the both of you tumble free from the release of whatever force grounded you as the sphere around you pops and sizzles away, much like a flame removed from fuel.

You both smack on the ground and you grunt on impact; landing a few inches shy of a shooting, neon spear that erupts from the circle of light on the floor where you’d both stood.

You don’t remember hitting your head on the ground on your way down, but, judging from the splitting pain, you did. Everything is spinning, the Alley is not making sense; the directions up and down may have flipped a few times while you were in your stupor. Nauseating.

There’s a loud crackling sound, and when you dizzily roll from your stomach to your back and prop up on your elbows to look, you see a bright orange wall has risen between you and the source of these spears, and another pair of bright blue arrows are imbedded in it, on fire and burning from the wall itself igniting them.

Grillby’s nice suit shirt and pants are soaking up dumpster juice and melted dirty snow, and one of his hands is sizzling where his palm is planted on snow, but he’s right next to you and still moving, even while you’re essentially useless.

The floor under him begins to glow again.

A door flies open and slams in the alley somewhere, but you’re too busy staring as the little wall of fire appears to crack in spider web patterns from the impact of the most recent arrow, and a third spear flies from the shadow toward it. You practically throw yourself to your left seeing as the alley wall is directly on your right, and practically roll over Grillby. The third spear shoots right threw his shattering firewall and cracks the floor you’d been on.

Instinct, and you grab Grillby’s shirt with both hands as you roll over him, and roll him over you in turn to your other side- oh, he _is_ just as light as you’d been told; you almost throw him.

The spike shoots from the ground, beside where you’re lying between it and a jostled flame elemental.

Too late you see the floor you’d both rolled onto is also glowing with two more cyan circles. The best you can do, still holding Grillby, is push him with all the might you have as you roll again. You hear him thump against the far wall- light and easily throwable- you think it’s far enough from the glowing spots on the floor. That is a relief- it is, but the spears have not stopped being thrown, and two more hurtle in his direction, and the floor under you is still glowing--

 _Cold._ _Encompassing_.

The little upside-down heart that’s followed Grillby around, a stark white, turns a dark blue with a sharp _‘ping’_. It choirs with another ‘ping’, one that is louder as if closer.

You both are yanked- yanked?- through the air, and a rough grunt erupts when the two of you both connect with another body, and the- now three of you- roll a little distance along the ground from the impact.

“BROTHER, ARE YOU ALRIGHT??”

Dizzily you roll onto your back again, tilting your head- er, up?- for an upside down view of Papyrus sliding to a halt, both hands extended. A wall of bones blocks the Alley before him, rising from the ground at least a full story. the bones are packed so tightly in line you only see cyan flashes and a small amount of smoke seeping through.

“Yeah, bro- takes more than that to rattle these—”

“DO NOT DARE MAKE A PUN AT THIS INJUNCTURE!”

Your head rolls to the side, and there’s Sans, chuckling as he rises from all fours to his feet. That would be the body you’d been yanked to. Huh.

Grillby’s taking his weight on the wall and standing slowly on Sans’ other side. He looks out of breath, and that hand that was sizzling from the snow is cradled close to his chest, but- he looks okay.

The loud thumping of spears crashing against a bone walls suddenly halts as Papyrus had yelled at his brother. After a few moments… a new voice sounds in response.

“ _Papyrus_?”

“…UNDYNE?”

His wall of bones, charred slightly from the onslaught of weapons, lowers promptly; almost rhythmically, like a domino effect, one after the other sucking in succession back into the earth where you can only assume, like magic, they now cease to exist. The only signs of them is a straight line of cracked, disturbed asphalt like a narrow crevice.

And there is your assailant.

A tattered woman with blue skin, tangled and ugly matted brownish hair, only one visible eye- a yellow almost as striking as her spears, and a vibrant contrast to every other aspect of her dark, grungy appearance. Leaning just barely out of the shadows of the very Alley you’d… found?… been led to?

“…well holy fuck.” It’s always a little strange to hear Sans curse so bluntly, unless he’s making a joke.

You think it must be warranted, considering the utter… something in his expression.

Grillby crackles in… both what you believe is agreement, and also a strange sort of already-acceptance. He… must have realized who it was some point during the attack. Perhaps he knew her, too.

You suddenly remember from Papyrus’ tales, the warrior woman with the spears and the ferocious attacks- and, maybe if… you hadn’t been _told_ already- told, _the undying_ , you might have figured out who it was yourself, and you’ve never even met her.

When you look back from them to Papyrus, he’s already closed two thirds of the gap and in three long strides of his equally long legs, he’s reached the Alley. The monstrous woman has stepped out just a bit further to meet him, clasping him with a hug that he initiates whole heartedly.

Against the clean colors of Papyrus’ neatly cleaned clothes and his pearly white bones, she looks even more haggard. She’s almost as thin as him, too, and that means something considering he’s a skeleton. You can see that because she’s not far from stark naked. At the least she’s a pair of torn up shorts on- what probably once was a shirt is torn to strands and is wrapped tightly around her arm and her leg, and the dark patches tell you they once bled.

You let your head tilt from craning ‘up’ to look at them upside down, back to a less pain-inducing position to stare at the actual ‘up’ direction, expecting sky. But you just end up looking at Sans’ face. He’s standing over you.

Your pulse spikes in your throat merely from the surprise, but your wide eyes relax again after only a second.

He crouches beside you and you barely register that he does, only that he gets shorter. “That one’s lookin pretty nasty there, bud. Just- lay there, okay? Don’t move.”

“…dno what ur talkin bout.” You rasp. Talking makes your headache echo.

“Kid, you’re bleedin from the head.”

“ah.”

You’d believe it.

“Grillbz?” you ask him.

“Little roughed up. Little _put out_.”

Grillby growls a bit at Sans’ pun, and he chuckles.

“It’ll take him a few minutes but, he’ll be alright and good as new. Can’t put him out for long.”

“That’s good.” You mumble.

“You’re lucky you’re alive.”

“Yea.”

“You’re lucky Undyne’s under the weather. Otherwise ya wouldn’t be alive.”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you know she was out here?”

“Didn’t.”

“…”

“Didn’t.” you repeat, when he stares down at you expresslessly.

“Hard to believe you.”

“Didn’t know she was.” You mumble, slowly sitting up.

Oh, you can feel where you must be bleeding now. That really hurts. You touch a hand to the left side of your head, just behind your ear. Wet. When you look at your hand, yeah. Blood.

In light of… you, blood isn’t a very concerning sight anymore.

At least it wouldn’t be and shouldn’t be- but the longer you stare at it, the more you swear everything is flickering bright red or blue colors. Like some shitty alleyway rave.

“It isn’t that bad.”

You try to stand up, pushing away colorful delusions.

“ _Whoa_ \- now, you see, I was serious. Lay back down- or at least stay sitting till paps can get a look at trying to heal it.” His hands hover like he’d typically push someone down by the shoulders in this situation, were you not… _you_.

You, huffily, sit back down, but shuffle a little to turn back to face down the Alley.

Papyrus and Undyne are no longer braced in hug, but Papyrus is speaking fast and quick- and a bit quieter than normal. With practice he seems to be getting better at that, you can’t actually hear what he’s saying. 

Dizzily you mutter, “I'm surprised it isn’t you that’s tried to kill me first. Always figured you’d take the first swing.”

You only barely see him turn his head to you from where he’d been looking at Undyne and Papyrus, too. He makes no other reaction; neither snarky comebacks or sarcastic remark.

He just kinda stares at you.

“It was a joke.”

“Was it?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“I'm barely here right now man. Its… been a long day.”

“…I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks, bonedaddy.”

He’s still staring at you, but you’re watching Papyrus jog back, not Sans, now.

He hustles up to your direction but you point him toward Grillby, shaking your head.

Your starting to worry you might be keeping him from work too long. Apollo is bound to notice sometime soon. If you’re lucky, he might not actually be here- you hadn’t seen him before coming out to the alley, and it wasn’t rare he left Grillby to man the place on his own. You can only hope.

Papyrus changes his course for Grillby, and starts to look him over. You look back down the alley, leaning a shoulder tiredly on the brick wall. You cant find energy to care about the gum and grime stuck to said wall.

That single, piercing bright yellow amidst browned colors of dirt and grime is pierced upon you.

She’s not nearly as difficult to read as Sans. But it’s a very similar expression. One that someone who _hadn’t_ spent a year alone with Sans might call unreadable, but full of Rage. Anger. Disgust.

So much more familiar than the ways either brother ever looks at you anymore. Dare you say you missed it?

Maybe, if you’re lucky, this one might actually kill you any minute now.

She could. She really could. Right now. You don’t doubt there was ever a moment that Sans couldn’t do it- he could always of killed you.

But she could and she would. She’s come close enough already.

She could really kill you.

You stare at each other. Eye to Eye.

She could kill you, right now, and if she tried, she couldn’t be stopped by anyone.

Would anyone try to?

She can kill you. Right. Now.

Undyne’s eye contact, you’re shocked to find, breaks first and she looks to the side with a clear… discomfort.

Sans is still staring at you, and you wonder mildly if he ever stopped, and when you look at him from the corner of your eye, you realize. he… has the same discomfort, if. More… more clear, more serious, more. Alarmed.

Papyrus is upon you, and Sans turns away to head over to Grillby. “ALRIGHT, MY HUMAN, LET ME SEE WHERE IT HURTS!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually, the "3 instincts" is pretty incomplete.
> 
> Flight, Fight, and Freeze are your most dramatic and most common responses to danger, but of course in complex psychology there are other responses. two more proposed instincts include Fawn (the immediate response being to seek an ally such as running but now away, and instead toward someone else in the situation), and Faint (a reaction most strongly associated with trauma or phobia, and is exactly as it sounds, 'fainting', or sometimes used to refer to a reaction where one plays a victim role or acts small to invoke pity.)
> 
> these types of acts most frequently can be put into a 'pyramid' type of scheme. Freeze is your first category and is one that can be enacted first, or can be skipped entirely. second category if Flight/Fight, where one enacts one or the other, or this category can be skipped entirely. third and lastly comes Faint/Fawn, where a person enacts one or the other, and most commonly neither are an /immediate/ instinct (per example, someone is more likely to freeze before taking an option, or to enact an initial second category reaction before hand).
> 
> Reader, as a character, most commonly Freezes, but can be skipped and in which case lies equally between Fight and Flight, and favors Fawn heavily over Faint.


	56. Destructive Behaviors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anything can be a destructive behavior when it does harm to yourself.

He’s starting to really get wound up with you.

Like, you’re really starting to grind a few gears lately.

You know, you didn’t even look this bad while he was being an asshole. Did he just not pay attention? Had he just not noticed? Or were you actually just getting worse by the day?

Yes you had had your moments while he was being the asshole he was. Yes, what he’d call panic attacks in the kitchen, and silence spells where you refused to speak to either of them, and yes, spacing out.

But when had it changed to something a bit more serious?

He can’t help but wonder if the sudden down slope was a result of his assholed behavior, or if it was… just you, and he hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t really cared at first.

You know… He _thought_ , for a brief while, that everything was calming down, getting better. Papyrus would hold your hand on walks, and you didn’t look like you were ready to bolt if he moved a little too fast or too sudden.

But it had seemed like movements to improve things just… made things worse, every time.

Every time something that seems… okay happens, or every step forward, something… _happens_.

And that means he either learns something really fucked up, or something really fucked up goes down.

I mean the last time it felt like a conversation had happened _without_ anxiety or fear or anger, he’d found out you were only a kid when – _something_ happened, and he’s still not entirely sure what.

Every other time is just… a mess.

Sometimes that was his fault and he could tell which times those were. Sometimes he’s the one who does dumb things, and he can tell.

But other times he _can’t_ tell what happened.

The day after they’d spent with Abby and you’d gone to register for the tests. He didn’t realize until much later but something had _really_ been wrong and he still doesn’t have a clue about it. He’d put off all your weird mannerisms as you just… being the way you are.

After all, you seemed constantly in the grips of an unending anxiety at any given moment.

But later he’d think about it and the way you’d come home late, and the way you’d refused to answer Papyrus’ questions, and the way you just acted _off_ for the next few days… he knew now something had happened that afternoon, before you got home. But he hasn’t a clue what.

It’s even _harder_ to figure out what, just because the day after had went… so far downhill.

He’d been so ready to turn a new leaf after his… introspection had dawned on him at Abby’s.

He could barely wait the whole day to try and talk to you about it- it was frustratingly annoying trying to talk to you one-on-one with Papyrus there. Maybe he’d been too focused on getting to that point. Maybe if he hadn’t been so focused he’d of realized that something had happened the day before, and today was the wrong day to broach a topic that he _knew_ would be riddled with the guilt he’d personally ramped up and instilled in you to protect his brother.

And yet still, even if he waited, would you have acted differently? He can’t really say. Maybe you would have had the same reaction, no matter when or where he brought it up.

And that day only got worse, too. I mean, you’d fully blacked out and everything, after spilling your guts all over Solar’s. And that ginger creep that owns the bar just kept rubbing him the wrong way. It’d even pissed Papyrus off a bit. And he could just plainly see Grillby’s discomfort every time the guy handled you. He doesn’t know what that was about, he’s not entirely sure, but it was just creepy how… ‘tenderly’ the guy had taken care of you.

It sounds a little asshole-ish to say it like that, but the slow stoking your face, and touching your hair- it’d been… _weird_. He knew even his brother was a bit put off by it; Papyrus had spoken up on your behalf that you didn’t like to be touched, perhaps he shouldn’t while you were out. And just then you were waking up, and then he pushed you down-

Frankly, anyone who knew you would have figured out that _that_ was a bad idea. Papyrus knocked him back and reaffirmed his statement, she doesn’t want to be touched, don’t do stuff like that. The creep had the gall to actually say “I know that, she’s _my_ girl!”

He just feels more creeped out about it after hearing from you that there’s literally no reason to ever think the two of you are an item. He’s not sure if you have any idea about Apollo’s little… thing for you.

But that whole day had just been so busy- so much, all in one, that it was hard to pick it apart. Only after so much time can he see the individual pieces. And then, even still, his pieces don’t all fit right, and he can’t tell what picture he’s supposed to make with them. They could even all go to different puzzles, entirely.

There’s so many things going on at once, and its hard to sort things out when it gets more tangled. He tries to sort them by category just to keep it all worked out. There’s Monster-based Guilt, there’s Day-to-day Anxieties, there’s Mysterious Backstory, there’s Weird Family Dramas, there’s You Being Outright Self Destructive---

And that one’s a whole other _story_. He wouldn’t have called a drink or two a day being an alcoholic. Sure, the first day he’d come home with you it had been a worry. You got yourself wobbly drunk and following around a drunk human hadn’t been a great way to spend a day with a new ‘owner’. You rarely got yourself that drunk, though, hed be glad to later realize- a sober human is less likely to do stupid things that he’ll only get dragged into. But the _longer_ he was with you he’d eventually just watch a decent. Sometimes not eating at all, all day, just some strong drink at lunch and another at dinner. A smaller person like you on an empty stomach- yeah, that gets you buzzed sometimes. Other days you get more than two drinks and he doesn’t think you notice yourself stumbling or saying something randomly.

Black-Out Drunk is a fun self destructive behavior. To be honest he thought you had the _common sense_ not to get drunk the day before a _job interview_. But that- that isn’t really fair. That night had been. Been a mess.

He’s never seen you flinch.

He’d pinned you to a fridge and threatened you before and you’d not _flinched_. You’d been struck by that crazy asshole old man’s cane, right in the face, you’d never flinched.

You flinched from _Papyrus_.

Not even a wince. Not the little cringes that come in reaction to minor contacts. I mean you’d practically thrown yourself against a wall to try and escape him.

Honestly- he blames Papyrus for that one. Not that it’s all that bad- Pap got a little too excited, too worried. His brother’s always been straight forward- physical, at times. He forgot, in his concern, not to touch. He’s can’t be mad at him- its just how Papyrus is and always has been, and he’s been doing his best. And he’d had no way of knowing just… how bad of a night it had already been. Pap had been left out in the dark on that layer of bad, thanks to Sans and his guilt tripping.

Sans had hoped that giving you the credit would be a good thing. You wouldn’t want to take it all away from pap just to give it back to some- some fucking human. He thought seeing how happy Papyrus was would. Make you feel better. Pap would get to keep his new hobby with good things to use for it and you would get a little stress and financial relief.

He didn’t expect the guilt. He wasn’t _trying_ to guilt trip this time, he didn’t expect the guilt. He didn’t expect it to get worse. He didn’t expect you to get sicker.

He cant predict anything. Just when he thinks its going to get _better_ and be _okay_ , something bad happens. Like a broken pot, a panicked flinch, a stillness and anxiety in the air as the realization settled on the room that you had thought _Papyrus_ was going to _hit_ you.

It’s a sickening thought for himself, the idea that Papyrus would hurt you. not just sickening- its an impossible thought. He’d not in a thousand years expect anyone would think Papyrus, pap, would hurt them.

Of course that doesn’t count as something Fucked Up enough. Something worse has to happen that night.

And so back to the topic of self destructive behavior.

Papyrus had been so… distraught about what’d happen he couldn’t sleep. They’d watched a movie. Calm their nerves. You’d gone to bed, they’d heard the door lock like normal. They’d watched a _movie_ to calm down.

Things don’t calm down.

He didn’t even know you had alcohol in the house.

He’s searched the place the first day you’d left him in it alone. He’d torn the place apart and put it back together again. Both of the little unused rooms, the office, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room. He even unlocked your door with a bit of magic and had nosed around before locking it again.

He doesn’t know how you drank yourself into a stupor in a house that was dry of alcohol.

They’d just been watching the movie- two dogs and a cat, trying to find their humans, or something. Big, dramatic ending, two hours after you’d gone to bed, and as the last dog’s running up the hill to see his human, he catches the slightest movement in the corner of his eyes.

He looks up at you standing in the hallway. Drunk. Streaming tears. Dripping blood. He’s not sure when Papyrus sees you but, he does too t some point. they’re both just staring as you fumble for breath between hiccups and sniffs.

Rambling- rambling about… going to work, losing your job, and everything is going to bad. You’ll lose the house, lose your money, lose them. There’s so many apologies he cant even remember and of the things you were sorry for.

It’s kind of _burned_ into his memory, last night. The sobbing laughter as you toasted to yourself, to death or to bankruptcy, losing them and hoping they find a better place.

It’s replayed in his memory, all day, while sitting through that interview, and flaring in his memory ever time you spoke or he looked at you. And he _knows_ you don’t remember it. The amount of alcohol Papyrus filtered out of your system that night- yes. You have no memory. He knows it. It’s frustrating that he can’t stop thinking about it and you don’t remember it at all.

He wasn’t expecting that death prospect from the toast to have been such an immediate concern- Grillby set out a burst of magic like a fucking distress beacon only 20 minutes after the two of you left. That fucking toast to yourself was the only rapid playing image in his head as he furiously pulled you and his favorite bartender across the hallway with blue magic. Death had been a close one.

For the love of god he’d not expected Undyne to be the root of all of today’s… _strangeness_ , and he _never_ would have guessed Undyne the cause of death. He more expected _you_ to be your own cause of death- knifing up your body and displaying it with what seems like not a care- he can remember the look of anxiety and confusion that spread across the face of his brother the first time you’d worn the short sleeves, and he’d been… so angry that you didn’t even _try_ to hide it from him. Or maybe you’d drink yourself to death- he’d had an ‘owner’ die on alcohol poisoning during what was probably around his second year of slavery.

But, no, you were alive. Alive and staring down Undyne the Undying.

At first he thought you were being… _stupid_. Looking onto the face of hate and unbreakingly staring down an angry bull like Undyne who’d already tried to kill you.

But second after second ticked by and he could feel the pulse of his own soul going higher and higher, as your stare stayed unrelenting.

He couldn’t fucking believe it, memory of your fucking toast playing deep in his bind. You were _daring_ Undyne The Undying.

She looked at you with a threat that she would kill you, and you stared her back with a look that says _do it_. It wasn’t even just a challenge, ‘do it I dare you’. no, it was- it was this unsettling, ready stare of _I welcome you to try_.

The same kid who’d been twirling a knife and laughing in a masochistic amusement at their own agony that had crumbled when he’d offered them to come, sit, and watch a movie with them. Dropped their bottle and knife and just sobbed and held their own arms and sank to the floor until Papyrus had just gone over and picked them up.

The same kid that they huddled between them in the blanket who passed out under the warmth of Papyrus’ healing magic was sitting in this alley with a bleeding head and daring Undyne The Undying, Human Hunter, to kill them and toasting to their own death.

What has he gotten into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> howdy folks.
> 
> to anyone in senior year of highschool or planning to drop out: GETTING A JOB IS HARD. start filling out applications ahead of time its 80% waiting and 20% disappointing.
> 
> fucking /hire me/.


	57. Appetite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> even when voraciously hungry, try not to bite off more than you can chew

Still hunkered against the wall for support, fighting a sleepy feeling brought on possibly by Papyrus’ warm healing magic but also possibly from cracking your head against a wall and floor, you hum a temporary goodbye to Grillby as he scurried into the back door of Solars and out of the Alley. He and Sans had decided it would be best that the flaming monster head in- to clear out the bar.

When Grillby had disappeared inside, you turned your head- resulting in chiding from Papyrus to stay still as he was still healing your bleeding head- to watch Sans stalk down the alley with his hands in his pockets.

Undyne, the grungy woman, has since disappeared into the dark of the alley again, but you don’t think she’s gone far.

“She said she’s living back there.” Papyrus says. He’s got his inside voice enacted, suddenly; you turn your head to look at him and he huffs and gives you a pointed look. You chuckle at him, and look back at the alley, so he can keep working on the side of your head.

“I… don’t understand how she can be.” You respond, quietly. You watch as Sans leans on the wall beside the darkened hall. “If she ran from a home and was reported… The…”

The Kill Switch would have been flipped. That’s a last resort, only authorizable via police chiefs or such and such. There are other measures, too; paralysis inducement, magic trackers, such and so forth. But The Kill Switch was in every monster’s collar. A ‘dangerous rouge’ monster, well, they’d be put down.

Just having _been_ the Royal Guard Head, you know she’d be on a Danger List. You’ve seen some of those here and then; warning labels for monsters with human-killing reputations.

“I didn’t ask that far yet.” Papyrus mumbled. He sounds so very tired.

You feel guilty. He’s… had some tough couple of days.

“Well. What do you think?”

He hesitates a moment. “What do I think?”

You hum. “Yea. What do you think I should do?”

“You- you’re asking ME?”

Sans looks your way curiously at the raise in voice.

You glance through the corner of your eye, without turning your head, at him. “Yea, Pap. What do you think?” the trickle of orange warmth still feels like its penetrating your skull. It’s unnaturally calming, despite how alarming it sounds to describe.

“OH. WELL- well, if it was me. I’d stop at nothing to help Undyne. She’s my captain, my mentor, my- my best friend. And- and a good person! It’s not just about being my friend- Undyne- if she’s… out here, I imagine she’s… not just _hiding_ , she’s doing what she can. to help monsters. That’s what Undyne _does._ ”

“Of course im going to help her, pap. You don’t have to convince me.”

“But- she attacked you.”

The haggard woman leans out of the dark shadow of the alley- she looks right at the two of you, but only for a second, quickly distracted by Sans on her right. She grins a gnarly sharp grin and grabs him right up in a bear hug. You can hear him snort from here, and make a pun. She noogies him.

That’s… interesting.

“A lot of things attack me lately.” You respond coolly. “I can’t blame her. She’s clearly out here fighting for her life. People backed into corners fight- that’s. Obvious.”

“y-yes.”

You glance his way again.

Papyrus laughs a little, quiet and nervous. “Oh- it’s just. I never could have thought of _Undyne_ backed into a corner.”

The thought really seems to have scared him.

“What do you think we aughta do?” you tried again, watching Undyne put down the shorter skeleton. He’s chuckling a bit- awkwardly. He shoulders off his jacket, and passes it to her. She makes some sort of joke about it, putting her hands to her hips. Sans just laughs. His jacket is far too small on her, but she pulls it on. Too small to zip closed, but, it’s some cover.

“…can we take her home?” Papyrus has, apparently, finished healing you. He’s just knelt beside you, now, watching them as his hands leave your head at settle on the ground beside him.

“Would she _want_ to come with me, is the question.”

“She’s… she’s a fighter but she’s not a fool.” Papyrus mumbled. “A place to hide better than an alley- she won’t turn it down.”

“How likely do you think she is to kill me in my sleep?”

“That’s a dark thought, my human.”

“Eh.”

You stand up- unsteadily, at first, but you find your feet. Papyrus stands up and holds his arms out, like to catch you if you fall, and you wave a hand to wordlessly say youre fine.

Grillby pops the door open to the alley, and everyone looks his way. He gives a nod, and, the lot of you look around at each other before slowly converging and slide into the backroom of Solar’s, one at a time.

Undyne, last with Sans at her side, stops at the door to give the bartender a gruff hug-and-pat. “Shocker. I was so near for 2 weeks, huh?”

“…small world, my dear.” Grillby affirmed with a nod, closing the door behind Sans as the group stood in his kitchen.

Before a word can be said- her stomach erupts with a loud, gurgling noise and the room is promptly staring.

“…” Grillby crosses his arms.

Sans chuckles. “To quote you, oh head of the royal guard, ‘I wouldn’t eat your greasy food if I was starving to death’. Does that still apply?”

Undyne raised her arms. “I said that when there were better, healthier options!”

Grillby puttered with chuckling licks of flame. He shuffled off, to make food, you think, into the kitchen.

“UNDYNE!” Papyrus claps his hands together. “ABOUT YOUR- AH- YOU WILL DEFINITELY LIKE YOUR NEW HOME WITH US AND THE HUMAN!”

Sans looks at you with a brief, cold sweat. “Uh, pap, I think you should probably save offers until they’re extended.”

The taller brother squinted a moment as he processed those words. It took him a second. “OH. OH! NO- NO, BROTHER, THE HUMAN IS ALREADY EXTENDING THEM!”

The shorter skeleton narrows his eyes in uncertainty, so you open your mouth to agree that, yes, you’re extending this offer. Undyne speaks first.

“I'm not sorry, you know.”

You look, now, at Undyne. She looks as dangerous as she had in the alley, even if she’s squeezed in Sans’ jacket, dirty and thin and out of place in the sanitary kitchen of clean stainless steel surfaces.

“I'm not sorry for attacking you.”

You shrug, sliding your hands in your pocket. “Eh- look, I’ll be straight with you.” you meet her dangerous gaze. “I don’t think this’ll work at all. I'm financially struggling as it is. And I'm doing a really bad job with just two people to help at home. And I'm a fucking wreck. Shits not very good and no one here can tell you it is.” You scratch your nails against your arm. “But- I have a spare room. Technically its Papyrus’ room, but, he sorta just lives with Sans. So it can be yours, as long as I have the room at the house, anyway. And, I have a fridge, and as much food I can keep in it, I can offer you that. Shits not good, but, I’ll extend what I can.”

“Why.” She growled. It doesn’t even sound like a question. It sounds like an accusation.

Why, indeed.

Because the guilt of leaving her in an alley would crush you?

The guilt of abandoning some so dear to Papyrus would be unbearable, is that why?

No.

It’s not Charity. She’s not the first person to be a starving homeless woman. You walk past them in the city every day, and you’ve lied about not having change to give when things were tighter than they were now, and your offering more than pocket change with this offer.

You’re not doing it to help her. Not because she’s starving and she’ll probably face death if caught- although, that certainly does help.

“I'm offering it because Papyrus thinks it’s what I should do.” You answer. “He thinks it’s the best thing to do.”

And that’s not a lie.

You’re not doing it because of the guilt. Not because you want to make Papyrus happy.

You’re doing it because every time that you’ve made a choice, it’s been a wrong choice, or it’s been a choice that fucked something up. It’s even been choices that shouldn’t _be_ yours to make at all.

You can’t trust your own choices. And it shouldn’t _be_ your choice to help strangers. Undyne is Papyrus’ friend- his mentor, his teacher, his best friend, his idol. It shouldn’t be your choice.

“I trust Papyrus’ faith in you and I trust his choices.” You look at Sans. “What about you? What do you think?”

Sans scoffs. “Well, I cant argue with your logic, I suppose. My brother’s a genius.”

You shrug. “So I'm offering. On behalf of myself, Undyne, would you like me to smuggle you home and offer you a place to stay?”

Undyne ‘hmm’ed rebelliously.

Grillby returns before she speaks again- understandably, she’s completely distracted from the conversation as Grillby slides a plate onto the table. The weird bun is the one you’ve seen on the Menu- it’s the Solar’s Fresh Catch Of The Day On A Bun. I.E. a fish burger with too long a name. The picture, though, normally only has a single fish patty. Grillby has loaded it with 4.

Undyne thoroughly mauls it with sharp, pointed teeth and a jaw like a shark.

You lean a little closer to Grillby while Sans makes a pun about her eating habits that promptly sends Papyrus into an outrage at his rudeness. “Ill pay for that.”

He cocks his head at you.

“Apollo’d throw a bitch fit if there was unexplainable missing product. He’s too much a stickler for every penny. He’ll notice.”

“…” he seems unhappy.

“And the bad part is, I don’t have enough cash on me to tip you if I cover it. I'm sorry, grills.”

He crackles and shakes his head a bit. Not to worry about it.

You can’t help worrying about it, anyway.

“…you are biting off more than you can chew.” He offers you, sagely in a funny sort of way, but he’s too serious.

“…there’s still the odds that all three of us get jobs. Money situation _could_ get better?”

“I don’t mean financially.” He chuffs pointedly.

You don’t have much to say to that.

You probably are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vigorously trying to find the will to live and to write


	58. Shortsight Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thinking ahead is not easy for those who for see no future, be it either A Future or One They Can Look Forward To

When Undyne has murdered her burger as violently as your sure she’d planned to murder her, and a second 3-patty-burger, and proven herself fish-worthy by drinking a straight 2 full gallons of clean water, finally an answer is dragged out of her.

She agrees to come with you and the skeletons. She puts a lot of emphasis on ‘come with’, making a point she’s not agreeing to stay with you, apparently. You don’t mean to sound ungrateful or cruel, but even your cheap apartment and old furniture is better than alleys full of dirty snowbush and old bags of trash shoved into the crevices.

No less, she’s agreed to come with the three of you, at least. For her sake you’re thankful for that.

You have to quietly open a tab with Grillby before getting ready to leave, seeing as you didn’t have enough cash on you to pay the second burger and its extra patties. At least the water was free. You pay off what you can now and have to somewhat force Grillby to write your name in the debt binder Apollo keeps on a shelf under the register, doing you best to not make any fuss to draw your new monster trio of companion’s attention to it.

Grillby strongly implies lying and saying a few patties were ‘underquality’ and had to be thrown away. You tell him not to lie and risk shit with Apollo twice.

You know Apollo’s soft but- he’s. Getting uncomfortably comfortable with slavery the longer he persists in having a slave. You miss the days before he was confused when you told him to take back orders he’d given Grillby or the brothers. When he’d listen to you rant about the internment of monsters at the bar and agree slavery- or at least, harsh treatment of monsters- was wrong. Before he’d gotten a slave himself.

Ugh. Nauseating.

Getting Undyne home proves to be all the more difficult, suddenly. Grillby stops your- rather poor plan- to just leave the restaurant and walk the streets. He scrambles up the stairs in the back, to the little apartment-like place that you know Apollo lets him live in on his own.

He comes back down, with a stack of Newspapers.

The Front Page of one he roots out is, lo and behold, a Photo ID of Undyne. She looks cleaner and less… ill and skinny. More muscle left on her that hadn’t been eaten away. Her ID information is listed, and the Headline is a lovely “ROUGE MONSTER! Would-be general of the monster king: public menace loose!”

Grillby assures you, there have been many newspapers. She’s also been shown on TV stations.

You regret never watching the news for a few seconds. It pisses you off too much of the time to watch the news, though. You’d rather be slightly behind on information than constantly infuriated by the casual news talk about governments ruining countries and the shitty people loose in the world. The most you’d ever watched TV was during the early year when monster collars were coming out, and you were desperately trying to contact congressmen about preventing monster slavery.

That kind of thing never works. Or maybe there just weren’t enough people who _gave a damn_ what happened to other people.

Yikes. Even thinking about TV News pisses you off.

Not to mention, rethinking your plan, Undyne’s a shaggy looking mess right about now, so she’d attract plenty of attention. She’s bound to be recognizable if you just walk out of the restaurant.

Theres not much you can pull out of your ass, in this situation.

“here.” You fumble and strip out of your heavy hoodie, pulling it over your head and shake like a ruffled cat when you're free. You’re not much bigger than Sans, but you like your jackets big, and your early winter hoodie will fit her better then the one Sans had given her. Not to mention, you imagine the cold is horrid for her, being so thin and possibly cold blooded. “Try this one instead. The hood can help hide you.”

She glares at you with one visible eye, the other hidden under matted hair. She doesn’t move to take it.

Jeeze. It’s like starting over from scratch with Sans.

That thought makes you. Pause.

When did things get _better_ with Sans? And apparently stop… being like ‘Sans’?

You’re distracted from the thought rather quickly when, after just standing there and holding it out, she finally takes your hoodie. She’s already taken off Sans’ when you weren’t paying attention, and throws it at you passive aggressively. You catch it, and she starts pulling on yours.

You turn away, looking down at the old, warn blue cloth. You run your fingers over the shoulder seams. You distinctly remember it being the last part you’d been sewing when he’d left it unattended.

There’s a new tear in the left hand pocket, you notice absently.

A hand grabs the jacket by the hood. Skeletal. You look up at Sans and let go, and he takes it back. He’s observing you oddly.

You quickly look for something to say, feeling like… something is being demanded out of you. His ‘What’s Up?’ Stare demands it.

“Remind me to fix the new hole when we get home.”

He scoffs and smirks at you. “Sure, kid.”

Pause repeat.

Huh.

When did it go from don’t-touch-my-stuff-and-i-hate-you to… a smirk and acceptance?

You’re still a bit entranced in thought when Papyrus explodes at the reminder of sewing and starts telling Undyne about how you both ‘stole’ Sans jacket and ‘repaired it from nothing’ and did it so secretively.

The story sounds very dramatic, coming from him. He seems to prefer leaving out the way his story ends, and starts talking about his other new hobbies instead of just sewing. Talking about the coupons and gardening.

Undyne’s pulled her hood up over her head, and it does a number to cover most of her. It’s the best you can do, so, with that the four of you take to stepping out of Solars. You’re lucky, it’s a very short walk around the block home, and Grillby opens up Solar’s again just as you leave, waving the group goodbye from the door as he turn’s the front door sign to ‘open’.

The lunch-hour pedestrian traffic is heavy. The crowds are so thick, you don’t need to worry; no one’s going to spot Undyne on the ground among so many people. She keeps her hands in her pockets, her hood up, and her head down.

She’s not the only monster on the streets. Sans and Papyrus attract more attention than anyone, being skeletons, though. No one cares for a blue-scaled monster.

Unfortunately, do to road traffic and foot traffic, its taking a while to get to the apartment.

Once again, your poor planning is biting you in the ass, and by that, you mean the cold, as the four of you stand along the edge of a busy road, waiting for the crosswalk light to turn with some numeral mass of people.

You regret the first shiver- it immediately is spotted by Papyrus, who stops talking about his extensive tomato plants.

Immediately, he begins a lecture as you turn to look up at him.

“-AND I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD ALLOW ME, THE GREAT AND AMAZING PAPYRUS, THE GREATEST FRIEND, TO FORGET THAT YOU HUMANS ARE SO SENSITIVE TO THE COLD! DON’T YOU KNOW HUMANS CAN GET ‘COLDS’ FROM THE CHILL AIR?!”

“s’not that bad, pap. Just chilly.”

“THE CHILLING IS HOW IT STARTS, HUMAN! FIRST YOU GET THE SHIVERS, AND THEN YOU GET THE SHAKES! AND YOU ALREADY SHAKE TOO MUCH, YOUR ALWAYS SO NERVOUS! YOU WILL PROBABLY SKIP ALL THE WAY TO THE FLU!”

For whatever reason you don’t think twice as he starts adjusting his trademark bright orange scarf- not until he’s taken it off and is sloooowly- in that weird, careful manner that reminds you so closely of your sister- putting it around your neck. You draw still as he does, blinking up at him.

He puts his hands proudly on either of his hips. “NYEHEHE! HUMAN, YOU LOOK SO SMALL IN THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ GREAT SCARF!”

You hold up both hands to grab the front of the wrap and pull it down, to uncover the lower half of your face. “The great Papyrus is a pretty big guy.”

He ‘nyehehehe’s at a volume loud and proud that irritates nearby people, before his gloved hands carefully grasp yours. Slow and gentle. They move them away from the scarf and he adjusts it again, up over your cheeks and nose. “THIS IS TO KEEP YOU WARM, SILLY HUMAN, IT WONT WORK IF YOU PULL IT DOWN!”

Sans is chuckling, and you jump at a sudden, extra weigh on your shoulders.

You look over your shoulder and the blue jacket settled upon it, at Sans.

“Don’t argue with my brother. Like I said, hes a genius, and he knows best. Stay warm.”

Papyrus scoffs, with a proud pose. It looks less proud than he probably thinks it does, and more embarrassed. With another boisterous laugh, he reaches down and pulls Sans’ jacket up over your shoulders, snug around you.

“GOOD, BROTHER! A HUMAN NEEDS A JACKET, WHEN ITS COLD ENOUGH TO SNOW!”

The cross walk turns, and the crowds start to rush the streets. Papyrus quickly grabs his’ brother’s hand as normal, and you follow just behind them, slightly entranced.

You’ve briefly even forgotten about Undyne, until you notice she’s walking at your side, a foot or two behind the skeletons.

“That was- weird.” She says, plainly.

You give a low hum. “I don’t think I’ll get used to… that.” You offer back. That warmth in your chest is even warmer than the extra clothing. It just feels… so genuinely strange.

When did it get like this? This suddenly seems like a far off time than fighting economic collapse and anxiety and the fucked up world and the guilt. This seems like it cant even be the same city, the same time and age. It’s… too different.

“Are they always like that?”

You look up at her.

“Papyrus is. Sans- i- think he’s tryin to be like this, now.” You answer, vaguely, not even sure where the words come from. You aren’t really thinking. Its all fuzzy- the warm kind of fuzzy feeling that puts things… out of perspective. At a later day you’ll wonder why you’re being so honest with someone who hates and has tried to kill you. for now, it doesn’t occur to you.

She seems… disconcerted. It’s the most… unguarded she’s looked in any manor, considering she’s addressing you.

You look ahead at Sans and Papyrus.

You note, absent and distant, that this is the first time they’ve walked in front of you down the street.

You pause in your steps- someone walking behind you almost collides right into you and gives a few startled, angry curses as he goes around, prompting Undyne to pause mid step and turn back. The brothers, too.

You look down at the jacket, warm if worn and thin, and the slightly tattered scarf of thick and bright fabric. You hold up your hands, half expecting them to be stained red, to see the flickering lights, to feel the stickiness or flaking feeling between your fingers.

You don’t.

You flex your fingers, vaguely aware of people walking past you and sparing not a glance to your miniscule existence, the towering figures of buildings around you that have always made you feel small, cars rushing past down the road and slowing again with traffic.

Your hands feel so very cold. Not cold like you’re growing sick, and not cold from early winter. Cold like stones. Your knuckles and palms are raw. You see the faded, ugly lines where scars and cuts were healed away like magic peeking out from under sleeves, and you see nicks and scared lines on your palms and fingers. Injuries, from accidents or self inflicted, that have passed.

You slowly start to tear up.

A hand slides into view- a skeleton hand- and takes yours. A gloved one takes the other.

You continue walking down the sidewalk, quietly running with waterworks, hands cold and hard but they’re still your own hands, and they are surrounded in warmth. You don’t know how you feel right now and you’re not really conscious of anything except the mild awareness of Sans on your right, Papyrus on your left, and Undyne on _his_ left.

Anything beyond is a… vague blur. You don’t really understand anything that’s happened just now. None of the emotions, nor can you name them, nor can you really _feel_ them.

You just feel cold, and hard. And _softening_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y i k e s on slow rate of updates folks im very sorry.  
> however I GOT A JOB LMAO but Minimum Wage. so im /hopefully/ on my way to financial stability. but also since im not working in Childcare there's a fuck ton of classes to take online and my hours are normally 9 a day at-work, so i /am/ slow at writing, very sorry.


	59. Second Opinion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whether the conversation sheds new information or a new light on anything or not, having someone to talk to can mean the world.

When your little crew nears the apartments, Sans stops you all and has everyone enter the alley just behind your building. To avoid the cameras in the lobby, he says, he’ll take Undyne in through a shortcut.

You. Don’t get what he means, but, it’s probably a good idea, right?

So you and Papyrus part with them from the alley, and you shoot a last glance over your shoulder to Sans and Undyne standing face to face- or. Facing each other face to, uh, waist. Sans is pretty short.

Papyrus leads you back to the front of the building by the hand, smiling wide. You like that.

“Real happy, eh, paps?” you can’t deny you sound… _spaced_. Softer. Than normal.

His grin turns down to you as he clicks the button for the elevator. “OF COURSE! Human, this is--! I did not think thinks could get so much better, you understand??”

“Ah… not really.”

“Well, human, not so long ago it feels, I wouldn’t have imagined where we’d be! A marvelous new human friend, my best friend and captain, and my brother, all safe in a home! And the marvelous Papyrus has two great new hobbies, and hopefully a new job soon, too!”

You chuckle. “I envy your optimism.” A thought occurs. “Uh… hey. Can I ask ya something?”

A loud ding and the called elevator slides open. Papyrus pulls you in by the hand with a curious look. “Of course, my human friend!” he hits the usual button.

“Just uh- where were you? before the auction?” you shrug. “You don’t have to answer. Just… curious? Or.”

“Sounds more like _concern_ , my dearest human, than curiosity.”

You look up at him, surprised at the accusation.

He looks- honestly, amused.

“The great Papyrus has been at a lot of places… theres not much in particular. I worked with our friend Grillby at a Human Circus for a little while!! Oh, and for a while the great Papyrus worked at an amusement park! The humans found Papyrus _so amazing_ , I was on the display! And the great Papyrus helped in an Italian kitchen!! My food was so amazing they couldn’t afford to keep me! And I helped an old man in his tree-cutting business!”

…you feel bad. Sounds kind of like paps has been around from the Local Freakshow to hard labor.

He seems. Happy, though? like he enjoyed the experiences. And knowing Papyrus, being marveled at, and getting to work in a kitchen and cook… you think he probably _did_ enjoy it.

You scratch the back of your head with your free hand, and shoot a glance at him before studying the tiled floor of the elevator.

“I have not had it as bad as my brother, if that’s what you mean to ask.”

Papyrus’ grip tightens a little around your hand- out of instinct you jerk out of his grip, and the both of you freeze up.

The elevator dings once again, and opens. Quietly, you both step off.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Papyrus sounds tired.

“You sound more concerned than I do, pap.”

“Perhaps I am, human. Perhaps.”

Though you’ve both stepped off the elevator, neither of you has made the first step to head to the room by the time the elevator door closes.

“so do you know how bad, exactly, he’s had it, then?”

“are you asking if I can tell or if I know what he’s actually had?”

You hum. “I can’t imagine you can’t tell, paps.”

When you spare another look up at him, he looks tired. Perhaps a little… upset.

“Sans does not talk about such things. I don’t know the details. I just know it isn’t good. I could make guesses.” Hes quiet for a while, and you think he might tell you some guesses he has, but he never does.

“No guesses I think I’d like.” You joke. You run your hand through your hair. It catches a knot and you pull some strands loose, but barely notice. It doesn’t hurt much.

“I can’t imagine you’d have any id like either.” is the answer you get.

You’re quiet a moment, too, before finally attempting a question you’ve been trying to word. you still don’t really know how you’re going to word it until you’re mouths already blurted it out. “So you haven’t had any-”

As expected, the word owners dies in your throat.

He fills it in for you. “So I haven’t had any owners as bad as whatever Sans has had?” at your nod, he makes a low sound of thought somewhere in the back of a throat he doesn’t actually have.

“No. No owners like that. The circus was not nice people, but they were closely monitored while we were there. The early time. I imagine we- us monsters, and the animals- would have been treated worse without the government scrutiny. The lions and tigers has too many scars from before there were humans in suits to watch the circus folk. The great Papyrus was gone before those early things faded away. Mostly just labor. I'm okay.”

He’s holding his arm in a certain manner. A manner you don’t question because, briefly, you’d seen the crack there before. You didn’t know what it was- could just be a natural thing. Or a childhood injury. The way he holds the spot, you don’t doubt it’s an injury from a previous owner.

You- want to offer him something. A hug or maybe a pat on the back or some sort of comfort, but your body can will itself to do so. Nor do you have the verbal aptitude to say something worth saying.

What’s something you’d have wanted someone to say to you about your mother?

The answer to that is nothing. You didn’t want anyone to say anything about that. About those days and the things that happened. About anything she did after or still does. There was nothing _to_ say. Nothing can change what happened and as much as anything that happened was bad, any of the pain, you don’t know what would be if it were different. Cant imagine it changing. There nothing someone can say to something like that. Nothing but rehearsed words of pity from strangers or awkward things from guilty siblings or your mothers frustrated denials, or in the beginning when she still apologized after you stopped… living with her. You don’t think there’s anything you’d like to hear from anyone about it.

Maybe that’s not the same thing Papyrus experienced, not that you know what he experienced, but. There’s probably nothing you can say. Nothing anyone could.

You roll your shoulders back and sigh. “They’ll start worrying where we are if we’re much longer, paps.”

“Right!” the tiredness evaporates from visibility. he offers you a cheerful hand to hold.

You wince at it but he takes his hand back without even word or an expression.

“well, come on then, Human!! We have a new roommate or possibly just a guest at home!! We must be good hosts!!”

You let Papyrus’ attempts for optimism, be them as real as he’d most likely want you to think or maybe a bit less real then you once thought, but none the less, you let yourself fall into his optimism and hope it’ll ease your lack thereof.

He’s right.

You’ve a guest and you have to be a good host.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hey like i had a Planned Plot for this story and i follow my plot plans usually but sometimes when your writing a chapter Shit Happens Differently Then You Thought It Would so from the chapter after this one and on for like 5 chapters that shit turned kinda Not What I Expected
> 
> any other writers out there who have basically no control over your characters or is that just me


	60. The Good The Bad and The Filthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drop Dead- turn of phrase, of course.

You and Papyrus enter your apartment with a loud slam as your introduction, which would be Papyrus throwing open your door, and you carefully close it and lock it behind you as he stampedes in. You double check its locked while Papyrus almost immediately begins chastising Sans in his slightly-louder inside voice, and triple check before observing Undyne hunched on the couch.

Seems she did not take well to that shortcut Sans plays around with. That little skeleton bastard just seems amused. Repeatedly he assures Papyrus that Undyne is fine; Only dizzy from a first time, and Undyne scowls at him with her one bright eye.

You hover near the doorway, uncertain if you should cut in. Maybe it’s your house, but it feels wrong to get in the way. It is, after all, a dynamic you don’t really… have a place in. its the skeleton brothers, and one of the brother’s best friend and teacher. You aren’t really in this group.

You’re the miserable human that owns 2/3rds of them. It’s not your place to get in the way. Plus, you don’t have the time to really relax or joke around, do you?

You have things to do. Things you need to do but you… aren’t sure how to get done.

Undyne needs a shower, both to warm her up, and out of a concern about how dry a fish woman should get, but you don’t know how to imply or offer it without seeming accusative that she’s dirty. And, well, she is dirty- you can’t imagine its comfortable, being crusted with dirt and grime from the street. But it’s kind of horrible your worrying about her being /dirty/.   

You should make dinner but, you don’t know if you have… enough food in the fridge… to feed all four people in this house, now. Undyne’s particularly ravenous appetite- for which you cant really blame her- only makes the prospect less likely. Nor do you have enough cash in the house to get enough food right now, anyway.

You should probably look up Undyne herself just to see what you’re getting into, how much local authorities know that she’s even in your area, if they’re looking for her in the city. You… probably should even figure out… how she escaped the kill switch on her collar. But you can’t fucking imagine asking her about that, nor getting caught researching her on the computer or something. You… feel particularly bad s the thought briefly occurs to research her… _criminal record_ , half of you suddenly screaming about the stupidity of welcoming a dangerous criminal in your home and demanding to know so you can be prepared for… whatever may or may not happen. The other half of you screams that that isn’t fair- anything in that record is most likely a nasty exaggeration if even a morsel of truth, and how terribly fucking racist that you want to prepare in case she wants to attack you. No wonder she wont ever trust you. Then again, its not really about race, it’s the fact that she did already attack you once, right? No less, it feels wrong your mind has already labeled her dangerous and violent, the same way the news and media has.

So you don’t even know if you’ll research her or not, but, half of you refuses to take it off the To Do list.

You should probably put together the second room, too, but then again she made a point saying she might not be staying, would the insinuation be insulting?

You don’t even have a mattress for the second room, either, just the one in the skeleton brother’s bedroom that sits on the floor under the window. Do you have sheets or a blanket, anyway?

You slip down the hallway, vaguely listening to Undyne (jokingly, you think) complain at Sans about the ‘fucking shortcut’. Unlocking your room with your key you move in and check the top of your closet and… no blankets. Only the throw blanket, then, to spare for her. Then again its usually in use- whoever tanks it on the couch uses it, and its thin. Too thin, maybe, for a cold blooded monster woman- maybe even too cold for a warm blooded human like yourself, givin its winter and getting colder by the night. Pillows- you don’t have any extras of those, either.

You look to your bed.

Your blanket, freshly laundered this morning by a bored Papyrus, is still waiting there folded with a clean pillowcase. You dress the pillow with it, set it on the stack, and meander back down the hall.

Its just as rowdy as when you left them a minute ago, and you move up to the empty spot on the couch- acutely aware of Undyne on your immediate left. She, of course, is just as aware of you, as you settle the pillow and blanket down.

Since shes _staring_ , you take the opportunity. “Theres a second room, but no bed in there. Couch would probably be more comfortable- and I think its warmer in here through the night, since there’s more heat vents.”

No one responds to you. Not Undyne, or either of the brothers who shushed to listen.

“-right.” You sigh, feeling worn down- _to the bone,_ hah- and start toward the kitchen. “We don’t have a lot of food in the house right now- and, I just started a new job, and I'm not completely clear on when the first paycheck is yet- I think its… biweekly, but until I get it, I don’t have access to much more food yet.”

“DON’T WORRY, HUMAN! My garden will produce us much food, here soon!”

You look around the house and take in… Papyrus’ crop of plants. Most of them have been tucked away to window sils, based on which ones need more light, but you don’t have enough windows for… everything. The coffee table is still covered in seed packs and new gardening tools, some herb plants line the kitchen counters (you know those will probably need to get some sort of artificial light source to survive there, not that you can afford that.), and the baby lemon tree and other fruit trees and plants which will one day… be /way/ too big are scattered across the bar counter and sitting around the living room in places you guess Papyrus thought looked nice.

“I… don’t think you’ll be harvesting much soon, pap.” You pull and read a tag on something that turns out to be a chili pepper plant. “…most of your plants are still, uh… babies. And not everything here is in season. Like… your tomatoes and your peppers, I- I'm pretty sure those don’t grow food til summer, and your trees wont grow anything til theyre much bigger…”

Papyrus deflates, but quickly stands taller. “NOT TO WORRY! The great Papyrus’ second new hobby will save the day sooner! I have been following these interesting Couponing Documentary Shows!! We can buy out half a store for 6 cents!”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that people on those shows… have to spend most of their weeks getting and organizing and planning a single shopping trip. And one expired coupon throws the whole thing off. And the stores hate and fight the people who try and do that. And most of the places in your town aren’t big name supermarkets that do coupons on that scale.

“…thanks, pap. I'm sure you make us proud.” You turn back to inspecting the fridge as he wops excitedly and immediately leaps into telling Undyne about those New Hobbies he’s started. You wince, hard, when he starts bragging that you bought all the plants for him.

“kid.”

That fucking _asshole_ just appearing beside you—you have half a mind to slam the fucking fridge door in his face, fuck—

“If it’s that strapped, I can-”

“You can’t steal food if that’s what your going to ask.”

He doesn’t respond as you scan the open fridge. You don’t have much- not even condiments, what with Sans living here.

“You gunna leave tonight? To be doin whatever you do to come back with a handful of cash?”

You close the fridge and check the cabinet with cans. You have some canned shit, but that’s mostly the Final Stock Pile. Nonperishable cans you’ve been storing up. Looks like its down to this.

Down to… that.

“I’ll do what I have to, Sans.”

“You know.” He starts lowly, keeping his voice down. “First night I came back with you, I remember a big picture on that wall. And a bracelet you used to wear sometimes. And a newer looking blender on the counter. And a few things that used to hang in the hallway- a clock in the office, too. And you used to have a purple case on your phone.” He pauses again. “I’ve seen a lot of them end up in that thrift store you like to shop at.”

“Perceptive.” You sigh.

Too bad you’re out of things to pawn.

He mirrors your thought out loud- “of course, nothing else seems to have sold in quite a while. You still go out quite a lot at night. What else happens at night?”

“Really?” you pull out little cans of Tuna. Undyne would eat that, right? “You really want to pick now to try and confront me on what happens at _night_ , knowing I don’t have much of a choice in doing whatever I'm doing right now, Sans?”

He’s quiet. Then, states, “You have a choice.”

“Oh? _Oh?_ Let you go wild on stealing food and money from people who work hard for what they have? No one just _has_ stuff, Sans. You’ve probably bankrupted a man who gardens and sells plants for a living, what, you want me to tell you to go wild and steal a stock of food from a grocery store so the corporate can take it out of some- some worker who’s working off student loans’ paycheck? Or would you rather they take it out of the single parent whos trying to support a family on a shitty low salary cashier’s check?”

You turn to him, making sure you put the can down on the counter _quietly_ despite the impending feeling of building frustration. Hes only an inch shorter than you but in the moment he seems small as he looks at you. You take a step away, despite an instinct that tells you to _yell in his face_. Your voice stays low despite it, because you’re aware that Papyrus is still prattling on to Undyne.

“I know you _hate_ humans, Sans, humans are _terrible_ but not everyone out there is _being_ horrible, Sans. Humans dont just hurt monsters, they hurt _each other_ , and maybe they aren’t slaves but the word _powerless_ still has merit. People _exist_ with no one to ask for help and mouthes to feed, that are defenseless. Do you think I'm the only person in this city that gets mugged in a dark alley? They face bullshit, too, Sans. You, stealing, makes you the fucking mugger in this situation. So my choice here, that you want me to make, is let you go fucking mug a twenty off someone who needs the money too in some dark alley- or something entirely fucking similar. That’s the only choice you’re giving me here.”

He seems completely taken aback. Maybe because your taking the side of humans, and you’ve never done that to him. Maybe because you called him a mugger, you don’t fucking know.

You pop cans of tuna, steaming internally, as you listen to Papyrus talk about how great he’ll be at couponing. The only condiment Sans hasn’t layed into is Mayo- you’re gunna make a fucking Tuna Salad.

“what if I found a place that’s not gunna come back and bite some single parent or college student in the ass?”

_Jesus fucking Christ._

It takes all your personal willpower not to slam the jar of mayo on the counter. You put it down. g.e.n.t.l.y.

And walk toward the back rooms. Sans follows, aware you’re trying to leave the presence of Papyrus and Undyne. You step into the little office- a converted, larger closet. Barely an office, though.

Still, your aggressive tones stay just above a whisper. “have you _considered_ for a single moment in your life you cant know every detail of a persons life when you start judging them, Sans? For the love of god. You try and call out my sister, a hard working woman, to my _face_ , and now you’re asking to- to be the judge of character of people you _don’t even know_ to pick out victims? Are you this fucking arrogant? Hell, fuck arrogance, are you this- this rutheless you get to pick victims? Do you _realize_ you're picking _victims_?” you feel like pulling your fucking hair out.

“Hey- its fucking _survival_. Giving a damn about a shitty asshole’s penchant isn’t in my To Do list as much as finding the money for food.”

“Was it _survival_ when you stole Papyrus a hobby, Sans? Did Papyrus _need_ all of the plants? Did you need _slippers_ and _gag glasses_ and all the other petty shit you’ve stolen as long as I’ve known you?” you hold up your hands when he goes to retort, and spin the other direction, exasperated. “You know- no, I don’t _care_ about the shitty 2 bucks you’ve taken out of someone’s pockets for shit like that. Just the _hundreds of dollars_ of plants and tools and what not you took from a _single person_ at _one time_.”

“He- that _asshole_ fucking deserves it, id know. If theres some assholes I know details about it’s the assholes that _owned me_.”

“Fucking deserving it aside, Sans, that’s the kind of shit that gets _reported._ ” You turn back to gesture at him. Why he can’t fucking grasp the issues with this you can’t _comprehend_. “ _Hundreds of dollars_ is worse than a 20$ mugging, Sans, when something gets reported like that it gets take _seriously_. You cant just go around stealing shit, especially not in this area, Sans. Police will start looking around, newspapers make a story out of anything. Did you see the _wanted criminal_ in our living room? Can we _afford_ to have police looking for odd activity in this city right now? Can we _afford_ something shit to happen and you get _caught_ , Sans? What the hell would we do if you got _caught_ , Sans? Fuck- if I had the _money_ for a lawyer it wouldn’t even _help_ , the courts wouldn’t take your favor even if you _weren’t_ guilty as all hell.”

“What, like whatever you’re doing at night is _legal_? Theres only so many legal things you can do in the dark of night to make money in a city and we both know pawning your shit at the thrift store didn’t last long, with no actual shit to _sell_ being as broke as you are. What’re you doing, selling drugs? cause that’s so much better than _theft_ in a court.”

“What I'm doing, what I'm _doing,_ is what I _have_ to. Do you _want_ your brother to have a bed? Do you want there to be food in the fridge?” you laugh bitterly before changing your questions. Some part of you recognizes that your attempts at yelling have ceased somewhere, but you're _angry._ “Hell, do you _want_ to be here, Sans? Since doing what I'm doing makes _no fucking difference in anything,_ do you even want to be here? Do you wanna go somewhere else? Do you wanna try taking off with Undyne, take your brother, just fucking _leave?_ Cause if I'm not fucking doing good enough and if my only fucking option just _isn’t fucking good enough for you_ , take the fuck off with your royal guard captain so I can finally fucking drop dead.”

He yells just a loud back at you, not backing down. just as furious, possibly. “Fuck it, then, if you’re so fucking _desperate_ for us to be gone then why don’t you just sell _us_ to the pawn shop, you already _bought_ Papyrus. Money’s so _tight_ and all but you bought another _slave_ , just _sell us back,_ and then hell, yeah, _drop dead_. Do the world the favor.”

For a moment the line does what it most likely intended; it _infuriates_ you and offends you.

But only for a moment.

For the next, against your wishes, the will drains right out of you. Your mind screams for the capacity to _stay_ angry, _be_ offended, _scream_ , insult, something.

But in the next heartbeat even that little spark of fight drains out of you. The _spark_ drains out. Ice water squelches a struggling, dim flame in your body.

You feel cold. Tired. Empty.

You could say you don’t feel _anything_ , but you do. You feel _cold._

You turn, pick up the jacket on the back of your cramped little office’s chair, and pull it on without a word to him.

“what the fuck are you doing?”

You’d don’t look back at him, or say a word. When you’ve pulled it on, you ignore what he says. You ignore what he says as he follows you down the hallway. You ignore what Papyrus says as you walk through the living room, and what Sans says as you unlock the front door.

You close it behind you, numbly aware you aren’t wearing shoes.

You leave.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmm i meant to get this posted sooner


	61. Bright Orange

You don’t come home that night.

No.

No, you stay out.

Doing what you have to do.

You do what you have to, until you don’t think you could feel your throat even if you _weren’t_ so cold everything was numb.

Turns out staying out the whole night for it is more lucrative then just a good 5, maybe 6 hours, anyway. Its just a bit more… exhausting. Soreness is a byproduct of money, though.

You don’t come home in the morning- no, it’s Tuesday morning. You go to Work.

You show up to the restaurant two hours before it opens, glad you have the keys so you can get in. The place is deserted- you’d been briefed, however, people start showing up an hour till opening for the coffee shop. You came in at opening, or so you would normally.

You relock the front of the coffee shop as you enter, and take the elevator up to the offices, just as deserted. No lights peek from under any of the doors, you wonder if anyone’s asleep in the Emergency Room. it didn’t look extremely lived in while you were being shown around, but most of the place was pretty well kept.

You slip into your office, still shivering like you were outside. Your feet are freezing, ice water and melted snow right in through the socks. You slowly peel them off, rubbing one at a time.

You spy a vent in the floor, but the heats not on or blowing any air at all when you step over on aching feet. You are, after all, the only one here. There’s a thermostat in your room- yours controls the third floor. Something Kal mentioned, briefly, is that you’d be responsible for turning it off when you left in the evening if no one was currently staying in the Emergency room, or reminding anyone staying late to turn it off when they lock up.

You fumble- aware your hands are shivering- with the heater until you figure out how to turn it on. There’s a sticky note with the temperatures you’re allowed to turn it to in the summer and winter.

70 degrees beats 0 outside, for sure.

You huddle on the ground at the vent- itll take some time for it to kick up, so you wait, huddled at the vent, for warmth to come.

You consider, you may need to bring toothpaste and a brush to keep at work. Or at least mouthwash. In case you decide to make a habit of working all night. Your mouth- your throat- your stomach- it all feels dirty, and it’ll be that way all day it seems.

You haven’t let yourself wonder about the apartment since you left. Increasingly drowsy, you let yourself think. You wonder if Undyne stayed warm on the couch and if anyone showed her to the shower. You wonder if anyone did anything with the tuna, and if the mayo sat out all night and went bad. You wonder if they’d find breakfast in the fridge. You’d had a can of those cinnamon rolls for you and the skeleton brothers- without you, there’d be more for, hopefully _enough_ for, Undyne. Hopefully enough.

Without you.

You curl up tighter, the first trickles of warmer air slipping up from the vent, trying to get the sparse starts of heat over more of you.

You don’t think you’re welcome back.

You don’t think you should go back.

You don’t think you want to go back.

If it was probable, you’d just… let them have the apartment. Call it a day. You could pretty much live in your office until you inevitably got fired, and… from there… something.

Hm, even then, youd still have to go back for some of your things, wouldn’t you?

You don’t want your things.

You don’t want anything.

You don’t want to _do_ anything.

Nothing but throw up. You want to throw up.

You want all of it _out_ of you.

The downside against how lucrative it is, working all night _fills_ your stomach, your churning unsettled guts, in a way you have _never_ missed.

You consider getting a head start on some work, since you’re new, you’ll probably need it to keep up.

You don’t have your laptop, though, what you can do is limited for now. You start working up a lie why you didn’t bring it for later, when you’ll need it and be asked why you don’t have it.

The day drags on.

You get up when you hear the sounds of people on the bottom floor- the sound of something loud in the kitchen turning on. You start working.

Kal comes up to your office about 5 minutes after you would have arrived normally. He’s surprised, but delighted, you appear to have beaten him here and come in early. He starts helping you run through your work with ease, taking your lie at face value and offering to show you the things done on it later. You work with paper work today, instead.

The office is warm by then, and your socks have dried, and sitting mostly at your desk the whole time as he teaches you about the paperwork and shows you things on his own laptop, its never noticed you don’t have shoes. That’s the highlight of your day, that your director and manager doesn’t have a new reason to find you odd, or point out you’re breaking an employee dress policy.

The lowlights include throwing up on your lunch break when you try to take a small bite of a muffin you got in the café, not realizing your wrist was bleeding until blood had soaked through your hoodie and left a mark on the desk- a mark Kal had almost seen- and an intense painful numbness that coincides with a struggle to stay awake toward the end of the day.

On the… Bright side- you now know your first pay day will be the Friday of next week?

If you make it that long. Your stint as a stage hand has lasted 3 days, and your job as a cook only 2. You could always be fired early.

You work your best for today.

You leave when the place is empty- slowly trying to prolong going home. You turn off the heat, off the lights, and lock the doors as you leave to walk home- no money you can spare for a bus, you need it all to buy food to feed the growing household. Trying to distract your mind with thoughts about what you’ve learned at work from when you get home. What might be waiting for you- police having found Undyne, Papyrus starting a kitchen fire, Sans ready to break your arm when you walk through the door or perhaps something worse—and then you think about work. Think about work. What you learned at work today.

You stop at Solars, if only to procrastinate going home. Grillby’s behind the counter. The last friendly face you feel that you have. If at all- perhaps his friendly domineer is just that- an aura. He’s a slave in a working position, he doesn’t get to decide if he has a friendly attitude, he has to have one. That, and Grillby doesn’t have much of an actual _face._

He doesn’t see you coming. You slink up to the counter and sit on the stool, socks soaked once again, cold as death. You peel them off and flip them right side out, lay them across your lap, and sink against the counter. Rest your head on your arms and focus on the stinging pain of cold skin to not sleep.

You’re spotted as he’s handing another man a burger, and almost drops the plate completely. Do you really look so bad?

He quickly gives the man his food and moves over toward you. he’s crackling in serious sounding concern. “Sans…… has been looking for you……”

You hum. “I'll probably be in a gutter somewhere soon, he can find me there.”

He blows past your less then optimistic joke, serious still. “…………look cold…”

“I'm always cold.” You hum again, softer.

He taps the counter. The usual method to ask if you want the usual. You shake your head. “2 burgers, one fish and one regular, and a salad to go. Something cheap and strong for here.”

You can tell the way he hesitates that he wants to say you should eat. He’s done that before. You shake your head, and his flames fizzle softly in a sigh.

He leaves and returns in a few moments with your drink, and in a couple minutes, a bag of burgers. Papyrus’ salad is settled in a container at the side. You’ve already drowned your drink, but you make no move to get up.

You order another.

A third.

A fourth, and in the process try not to cry while drinking it.

A fifth and a sixth and you feel so cold and the whiskey burns your throat in a nearly blissful alcoholic sanitization, and its already after 9:30 at night and closing in on 10pm and solar’s will close soon. You order 2 more.

In the fog of drunken blackness you hear a buzzing in your ears you’re convinced is your own dying pulse as just at closing, someone warm and bright orange says something to you that you can’t hear, and tired and lost and confused you vaguely remember being led up stairs to the little apartment where Grillby lives. You’d always wondered what it looks like up there. How Grillby lived. If it was as nice as Apollo made it sound. You wonder if he is allowed to decorate his tiny apartment, if he has the capability, and you ask Grillby as he leads you up the steps.

In your hazed confusion you forget it’s not Grillby who’s leading you up and that its Apollo, even when you see the haze of flaming monster man pacing in a panic behind the bar, watching you go; the sight of him tricks you into thinking the bar’s on fire, and you say that out loud to the man in the suit who’s guiding you up the stairs. And he laughs. He’s bright orange, but he’s not Grillby. His laugh is not as warm as grillby’s crackling flames.

“you’re so sweet when your drunk, honey.”

You grin and giggle, but that ginger man in the suit is not Grillby like you’re so drunken memory swears confusedly even once your sober, and you shouldn’t have let him take you upstairs. He was never warm like fire- he was cold and colder than you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some asshole tried to accuse me of stealing this story idea from him and i was like "oh sorry man i didnt mean to copy something you already had"
> 
> immediately after responding that, i go to this link hed used to accuse me and this fuckin idiot had like, posted this story like 2 hours before writing that comment, and that said he'd like,,,, mashed my first 25 or so chapters into like 4 and i could barely read it,,, and it was so funny 
> 
> since then after blocking and reporting, his stories have been removed and account deleted. but just how funny is that i remember i had to wait a whole week on a waitlist to get my AO3 account way back in the day and that idiot got his only to do that and then delete it in an attempt to like,,, get credit for my story,,,
> 
> anyway heres your next chapter folds, chapter 61
> 
> now, because i've been asked again if i can be contacted somewhere other than on ao3: yes i can. you can chatter at me about the story or anything else at http://firemama.tumblr.com/


	62. Thin Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skin as hard as frozen rock, cold stone to the hearth.

You know what happened the second you wake up.

No- no you… know the physical act happened. That’s what you know.

The familiar ache. The _feeling_ in your gut. Your eyes hurt and you know they’re probably red. You’re naked. The room is unfamiliar. You want to curl in on yourself and shrivel into dirt.

You know what happened.

With who, where, why, when and how long ago, how. None of that you know, yet.

You just know the what.

You know what happened.

The where takes a little bit of time.

The room smells familiar. It’s warm in here. It smells like cedar. A little like grease. It smells like your friend, and it smells like the only place, outside your own apartment, that you ever Wanted to be. It smells like Grillby, and it smells like Solar’s. The room’s dark but for light streaming in a single small window. There’s a black blanket over you, a single-person-sized mattress on the ground under you. Few belongings, most of which are just changes of clothes in an open nook of a closet. Mostly formal. The familiar work uniform. Theres a picture frame with broken glass, two figures. One familiar- you’ve seen his face- or lack there of- practically every day for years.

You figure out the where slowly- slow only because you’ve never been in here, and because the What is just echoing in your head, taking up most of the space.

You sit up, blanket slipping down and piling in your lap. Your bare skin is cold. Achingly cold. There’s no bit of warmth in your body, even if the room is warm. You notice a small pile of clothes on the right, settled next to the bed. Those are yours. Folded, and clean. You can recognize that they’re warm, warm like fresh from a dryer. You can’t feel that fact. It’s just your skin telling you so, without giving you that feeling.

Slow and numb you put on your hoodie, skipping bra, skipping shirt. You put on your sweatpants, and socks, and skip everything else. You pick up the stack of what’s left, and try to stand. You have to try three times until your legs, trembling, carry you up to your feet unsteadily.

You walk toward the open door leading out of the room.

The owner of the room- no, the man who doesn’t own anything but Lives here- is sitting at a table. He glows in the dim room. The only source of light is him and another window, a little bigger than the one in the bedroom. His face is rested in his hands.

You can’t gleam any sort of expression off him. You can’t focus on anything. It may be the hangover; it may be the cold gnawing from your body into your mind.

The best you can discern is ‘ _upset_ ’ in his raspy voice when he speaks. “………I couldn’t find you’re… shoes.”

Your toes wiggle in your socks subconsciously. “…I didn’t have any.”

He just… nods. You see from… from a certain way the outlining flame of his jaw and neck shift, sort of like grinding someone’s teeth, that he tries to say something else. Your mostly mute companion, maybe friend, can’t manage.

You start to walk toward the stairs. Memory unclear. Unsure what you’ll do. Where you’ll go. You should be at work by now, the suns already up and bright outside.

Before you get there to the open stairs, his voice- rasp and raw- says he’s sorry.

“Was it you?” you can’t remember. Just a vague man in a suit. Orange. 

He shakes his head no- you aren’t looking, but you hear the swish of the flames, and you already know the answer anyway. You can’t remember, but you know it’s not him. When your head, your drunken memory, says its Grillby, you know it’s not.

“Then don’t be sorry.”

You start down the stairs.

Solars is locked, so you unlock the door, and step out. Your feet, already cold, feel nothing as you walk through the trodden sidewalk snow. They’re like rocks, already cold.

Tears start rushing down your face at some point as you walk, and they don’t stop. Not as your ice cold, trembling legs automatically take you to the apartments, not up the elevator, not as you walk toward and unlock your own door.

It creeks open and closes behind you weakly. You don’t bother locking it.

Something envelopes your person and your heavy feet leave the ground. After a little while you can actually tune in and hear Papyrus is yelling in delight and relief in your ear.

He still holds you as he runs in from the walkway and into the living room, yelling San’s name.

None of its registering. Not the way Sans stares where he must’ve stood from the couch. Not the way Undyne’s come in from the hallway at all the yelling. Not your boss- BIG boss, Koyol, sitting on the couch.

None of it makes sense to you and you don’t take it in. it goes in one way and just out the other, unprocessed information.

Sans is battering at Papyrus to put you down but as gently as he rests you on your feet, your knees don’t hold you and you hit the ground so hard but don’t feel.

You mildly note Undyne has vanished again and that’s good- Koyol shouldn’t see her here, that’s bad. That’s the only thing you seem to register so far.

Papyrus picking up your clothes from beside you is the next thing registered, alongside a little exclamation about something in regards to an apology for seeing your underwear.

The tears still stream your face and have never stopped and you register your boss looks completely expressionless- as usual- and hasn’t moved since you came in.

The next thing that clocks is Sans. He’s sitting in front of you and he’s asking, slowly, overly enunciated, _repeatedly_ in attempt to get your attention, where you’ve been. What happened. Where did you go when you left, where have you been, what happened?

You’re barely functioning at a mental level, so without thinking, you start to tell him obediently, head rocking from a mix of a slight drunken high leftover from the night before, and the mind numbing hangover, and sheer exhaustion.

You worked all night, blowing strangers through a hole in the wall. You went to work at the resteraunt. You were going home and stopped to get dinner. You drank until you woke up upstairs from Solars and you don’t remember who took you up to bed.

Barely functioning anymore, you ask your father sitting in front of you if he’ll let you go to sleep now? Your stomach hurts too much to do anymore tonight, please, will he let you sleep, now?

You fall asleep before getting answered, and hope he won’t be mad in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will f i g h t my own tired ass i want to WRITE MORE


	63. Goin To Grillby's.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reminiscence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soft foreshadowing everywhere

When your body pitches forward, he catches it. More so in a lack of anything else to do when you slip off consciousness and fall into him.

Unsure what else to do, he lowers your weight until your heads resting on his lap, and he just… stares a moment.

That… had been a _lot_ of information in one damn go. And he’s not a clue what to do with it- any of it.

Papyrus is still standing there next to him, hunched over from when you’d collapsed and he’d supported you from cracking your head on the ground. He hasn’t moved much since the rambling started.

After a few minutes of stillness, he hunches over a bit further and carefully begins adjusting. A few seconds pass and he’s managed to gather you into his arms, and straightens up. Papyrus carefully walks off to the hall, presumably to take you to bed. You hear a bit of clatter as Undyne follows him in a flurry.

And then its just him, on his knees on the floor. Sat in the quiet and amazed how, once again, everything seems to have suddenly changed in a matter of seconds.

A shift in the room reminds him suddenly- no, its not just him.

“It would seem that the requests for speaking to the police about a missing person is… now unnecessary.”

That’s why they’d called him. Kyle, your boss.

Police, human police, were something he and Undyne had agreed would. _Not…_ work out well with them. Having police come to the house for a report, well. It put Undyne at risk- and after getting _yelled_ at about not being concerned about her, he had to shut down Papyrus’ insistence they call the police when you didn’t come home at all yesterday. Not that Sans believed for a moment that police would listen to a pair of monsters.

Papyrus had put forward calling the rainbow people. Sans was a bit surprised the corporate head had been the one to answer the phone this morning, and more so when he was the one to make the trip out to the apartment.

Sans’d made some snarky comment about a boss who takes a personal interest in his employees- and and the man’d flatly agreed. Yes. He Does Take Personal Interest In His Employee’s Wellbeing.

Kyle had only been here under an hour before you’d shown up. They’d been talking about what to do, what they should do. Kyle had agreed to put in the report- according to his records and from Kal himself, you’d been to work yesterday, but not today. Their story so far was that Kyle and Kal had been concerned their newest hire hadn’t shown up, they called your house, and the skeleton brothers stated you hadn’t been home in 48 hours.

But then you showed up. Their plan was… void, now.

“No- she’s definitely not missing. Now.”

“The next course of action, you think…?”

He snorted and laughed sarcastically. “There isn’t one, pal.”

“It’s to my knowledge that your companion- roommate?” he makes a stuttered noise like he’s not a clue how to affirm who she is and quickly bypasses that. “It would seem we have a few other legal measures we must see to at some time.”

“Look, buddy. She’s back, that’s all we needed you for. Don’t meddle.” Sans stands up, rolling his shoulders. The green haired man stands as well, following that cue. “Thank you- though. For coming.” he makes a point to himself to grind out that thank you. Kyle had been nothing but helpful- and concerned.

“Consider, if you will, then.” He says in his low accent as Kyle follows him toward the front door. “While you are used to it that the systems of society are against you, and they for the most part are, some parts of these systems were designed… to help people. Humans, yes, but… she is a human. And what helps her will help you. Because what she is doing is helping you.”

“You sure talk in an annoying roundabout way.”

“perhaps.” While there’s no tambour or pitch that… suggests it, he believes he detects amusement in the man’s’ blank tone. “It’s worth considering, my friend. Someone… has harmed her in the night. Humans, there are ways to go about handling that. Legally, Seriously, to protect. She knows. She’s been there.”

Kyle closes the door for himself after being let out.

Leaving Sans with the ominous comment, _she’s been there_.

He can’t help wondering how in depth their background scans must be where you work.

Papyrus steps out of the hall, Sans still standing at the front door. Thinking.

“Undyne is examining the human for injuries and dressing her for bed.” He sounds tired. “The Great Papyrus shall heal her if Undyne finds anything.”

“Good work, bro.”

There’s a few moments of silence. He comes to a conclusion- on his next ‘course of action’.

“I'm headin to Grillby’s.”

“It’s called Solars, brother.”

“Yeah.”

Sans opens the door again and closes it behind him. Kyle is nowhere to be seen, most likely has already fled the building, back to work.

He takes a few seconds to think, looking around the hallway. Absently thinking about minor things. Like the apartment across the hall, recently vacant. Or the green carpet of the hallway. The elevator that used to be broken.

He thinks, maybe, he’s calming some sort of nerves. But whatever nerves are tangled in him, they don’t ease.

He makes the leap in a bound, deciding he’s taken enough time, and he’s abruptly standing in the dining room of Solars.

The lights are off and the place is empty. Its Wednesday, and its lunch time. The place shouldn’t be closed- and he cant help wondering if its Apollo or if its Grillby that’s closed the place down today.

He takes the steps up the stairs. He’s been up to the place before- once. He came around yesterday morning, when you apparently would have been at work already. To see if you came here that night, and perhaps you’d just still be here, drunk.

He should have checked here last night.

He steps onto the top step. No doors separate Grillby’s small place from the bar downstairs. He’s now standing in the tiny main room of the miniature apartment.

The warm glow of his friend is sat at a table, and he doesn’t move, although Sans is pretty sure he’s aware of his presence.

Sans moves toward the table and sits. It’s just a coffee table, no chairs. He sits on the ground, across from him.

It’s quiet, beyond the noise of the street, and the low crackling of fire.

“She’s home, now.”

Quiet.

“She says she was here, last night.”

Grillby’s head dips a bit lower, head buried in the palms of his hands.

“…so she came upstairs with someone.”

“ _him._ ” there’s a low, nearly primal sort of anger in Grillby’s raspy voice. God, is it appealing.

Someone else to be angry. Not just him, like it always seems to be. Someone else is furious, too.

“Orange and a suit. I figured.”

Grillby just shakes his head. Upset.

“Grill, it’s alright. For right now. So she slept around a little while blackout drunk, that’s not your fault.”

An angry his of fire cuts Sans off. he stops that line of speech, and the room stretches into the angry hiss of flickering flaps to a quit distress once again.

“……she begged.” He mumbled. Hoarse. “She said _no_.”

Something tightens in his throat. He means to say something back in response, but there’s something too tight in it to speak.

“……………waited down stairs and. Listened. He left after. I came up.”

“Something else happen?” he managed to prompt after some several moments of silence.

“……crying. Begging. Pleading. Words. Offers.” Grillby’s head lifts from his hands, and the flaming appendages carefully lift his classes off his face. there’s a tremble to them as he sets his lenses on the table, before vigorously rubbing his face. he repeats, “ _offers._ Begs. Crying.”

Sans scratches the back of his skull, discomforted. “she… offered to you?”

“if I wouldn’t _hurt her_ , she offered…” Grillby trails off.

Sans can figure from there.

“Oh, man. Grills, you know she wouldn’t actually think you’d hurt her. You’re like- well, hell, you’re like her only friend, outside me n pap. She was just. You know? It- shit, happens? You know? And ya don’t always think right when it feels like its happening or gunna… happen again.”

He doesn’t know how to phrase something like… this, to someone. He just kinda knows what that’s like. The panic. The thoughts take a run with what they _think_ is going to happen before you can use better logic to say, ‘no, that _wouldn’t_ happen’.

Like, if he used his better logic, he’d known at a time ago that there’s no way you could stomach selling him- selling his brother, to some man in the restaurant downstairs for the night. No, he doesn’t even need his _better_ logic for that. He knows instantaneously that’s not something you could have done, no matter how strapped for cash. He knows this now and he knew that then- but still, when he’d heard it, when he thought for even the briefest millisecond, that’s what he was hearing- well.

The panic.

Do and Say anything in that place, to make those things not happen.

He’s said plenty of things he probably shouldn’t, to make sure those things never happen, and that was without that panic. Like, what he’d said that… started all of this… new mess.

He looks up at Grillby again and tries to finish what he was saying, but. There’s not much he can say. “She’s gunna be okay. It was. Just in the moment. Just in the panic.” Another stretch of quiet, and he adds, trying to sound light, “come on, grills, we know she’s bounced back from all kinds of stuff. She’ll be alright.”

“…what about _him_ …”

Ah.

What about _him_ , indeed.

“What are the odds, you think, that I could get away leaving him dead in an alley somewhere.”

Grillby chuffs at him and numbly taps the collar on his own neck, the dull blinking lights a sign of its quiet subtle activities.

 _No killing humans_ was the first order any and all monster was given when they first put on. Among another list of rules, some monsters remember those differently. But no killing humans- that was universal.

Numbly does he remember the first days the collars started coming about. He can remember Alphys was one of the first monsters to wear one- she’d been a part of the team that had to help _make_ them.

She’d been telling him, hopefully, the idea of the collars. An accessory that monsters in high places could wear that would calm humans down. Why, if the king Asgore himself was wearing something as proof he wasn’t inciting wars secretly to overthrow humanity? The suspicions that could be put down!

The collars weren’t ever intended, of course, for commands. They were for Truths Or Lies. A red light for a lie, a green light for a truth, a yellow light for a partial truth or an omitted lie. Alphys had worn one voluntarily and demonstrated its effects so excitedly.

Things went downhill. Of course. Modifications were made. But on the basis of   something so solidly built as a lie detecting collar, something that could control speech had come first, not control the monster.

The Truth Telling Collar was a dread in itself that the scientists ‘in charge’ of Alphys’ research had force her to construct. She’d told him those anxieties. He regrets she hadn’t confided them in someone who… would have done something more. Maybe some of this could be different.

Once it was made that the collar could control- _force_ a person to speak a truth, the humans pushed forward. Something to control and to force _more_ than just speech was just around the corner. The experimental collar was put on Alphys. They made her work on it. She didn’t come home for months and they’d all been worried sick, and.

And they had to accept she was never coming back, as more monsters disappeared from their homes. The influx of collaring. The passing of the laws. The kidnappings.

Sans and Papyrus had gone together. They’d stuck together for a little while, too. And then they’d split. Toriel had been with them when the humans had shown up at the little house. Frisk had been in the bedroom. They’d come running out just as they been taken from the house. Toriel was left in the kitchen, Frisk clung to the skirt of her dress, and they’d heard the old woman weeping as they left.

They’d been collared and given that first order before that days’ sunset.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright folks this may be my last update in a while.  
> my shitty laptop has hit an all time low: it cant run basic writing software like microsoft word longer than 30 minutes without shutting down. my usb ports are so fucked i cant back up files on flashdrives- and random files get corrupted. frequently. 
> 
> if this chapter is underedited im sorry- ill get to editing it when i have something capable. its my last chapter i've had written to a capable posting level and until ive got something new to write with, writing the next chapters is fucked. If you want to contribute to that, since im a poor ass fucker on a part time minimum wage whos money mostly has to go to rent and moving to Orlando, i now have a YouCare funding program going. 
> 
> until i've got something new, this'll be the announcement of the hiatus. 
> 
> YouCare Donation Link: https://www.youcaring.com/savannahvmummassu-1152030?utm_campaign=buttonshare&utm_medium=url&utm_source=copy&utm_content=cf_cp_01
> 
> if you use Paypal, you can donate through kofi, and donations will be added to the youcare pool:  
> http://ko-fi.com/vvmumv
> 
> If you have questions: http://firemama.tumblr.com/ask


	64. Heatseeking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> coldcoldcold

The room is silent, and it’s unclear how long you’ve slept.

There’s a vague light coming in the crack between the dark curtains on your window. a downward slanted stream that leaves a small triangle of whitish gold on the carpet in front of the closet.

Your blankets are clean tucked around you. too carefully. A sign you’d been put to bed by another person. Your room itself is clean- too clean.

You wonder if Papyrus got in your room and cleaned it. He cleans the most when he’s stressed.

The door, you can tell, isn’t locked. You always sleep with it locked, the sight that it isn’t leaves a distressed open feeling in your mind, like vulnerability, and the dull ache of your body, sore, makes that vulnerability sting.

You rise slowly out of bed. The soft sound of city birds chirping and the noise of traffic outside your window is as tranquil as a city gets. You fold the blankets back in place, if only because the room is to clean that messing the bed feels uncomfortable.

Your own room feels _uncomfortable._ Unlocked, neatened, some place you were _deposited_ feeling _used_.

Anxiety riddled memories of childhood stir. They’re smashed away.

You jump quietly as something moved in the corner of your eye, something dark in the corner of a room.

Quietly you walk to the door, feeling it follow behind you, watching you.

The doors unlocked, but by habit you jiggle the lock before turning the handle, only to lock it in that process, so the door doesn’t budge when you try to open it. Your heart leaps and your throat catches, and the jiggle of metal is hurried in an effort to get the door unlocked properly.

You break into the hallway rapidly and don’t turn around, closing the door without looking. You don’t want to see it. You lock it behind you.

It follows you into the bathroom, anyway, even if you’d closed the bedroom door on it, and the bathroom door just as quickly has locked in between it and you.

The stripping of clothes makes your skin crawl, and each removed piece feels grosser, dirtier, and colder. The ghost of large hands helping you raise your shirt over head makes you jump; your skin burns like someone’s pressing dry ice to already uncomfortably cold skin as the feeling runs down your legs to help you peel off sweat pants.

A darkness in a corner watches intently, and it’s violating, as you climb into the shower.

You turn on the hot water to high, but what greets you is ice cold of unheated pipes. So cold it burns your skin. So cold it saps any life from your skin. Flesh that feels so cold that it could freeze the water to its surface on contact.

Cold on cold, surrounded by _cold_.

You weep.

Curling down onto the floor of the lipped bathtub, ice cold water pelting ice cold flesh as you press on ice cold porcelain, completely bared and exposed, you weep. Sob into the water. Cry.

The whimpers bounce off the surface of the shower and tub like an echo, the same way it would if you were humming while washing your hair. Melancholic and ironic.

The lock of a door clicks. It creaks open, and the hard sound of two hard surfaces clicking against one another- familiar- bone on tile- draws closer.

The curtain moves back quickly and shuts off the water.

“Human! The apartment’s hot water is out! A landlord told us this floor is off for today!”

He keeps talking. Something about an apartment across the hall getting renovated, the hot waters off, get up before you freeze.

He’s grabbed a towel from somewhere, but you haven’t gotten up.

He frowns at you- still weeping, weak- and climbs into the shower after you.

He lays the towel over you like a blanket and gently his hands grasp around you over the cloth. He pulls you up and you neither protest nor fight as you’re dragged upright like a limp ragdoll. He mutters something under his breath and drags you over the rim of the tub and out of the cold shower, and your cold wet feet land on cold tile.

He adjusts the towel around you quickly- and grabs another, sitting himself behind you on the edge of the tub and drying limp, heavy tangles of wet hair on your head while you stand in front of him.

“Papyrus.”

You sound exactly like someone who’s been crying. Miserable and pathetic.

“Yes?” he’s still focused on drying your hair, but he folds the towel back out of your face, out of the way.

Meaning to ask for his hand, you forget to say the words out loud. You just reach up and grab it, pulling it away from tousselling the towel. He keeps going with his other hand, still, until you’ve started pulling off his glove, and observes you now instead.

When his hand is bare you press it between your own two hands. You _know it’s warm_ , desperately you do. But you- it feels as if you’re holding a rock. Cold- more than cold, like its sapping whatever body heat you have left. You want to recoil at the touch of it, even if it’s you who’s touching him. You want to yell to stop touching, spasm and knock his hand away. Its taking what little you have to hold it. It’s so unbearably cold, but you _know its warm_.

You clutch it between your fingers, barely aware of the shaking sob that wracks your body.

Something moves in the corner of your eye again and you flinch, hard, dropping his hand and his glove. Instead your hands curl around yourself. Trying to contain what little warmth you have left, that you haven’t given away in hopes of. Something.

The movement moves only closer and closer still, and you curl inward and inward with dread. Waiting for the ghosts of hands. Maybe for static. You don’t know. Telling the two shadows apart is growing more difficult these days.

Instead a weight appears on your shoulders. You practically jump out of your skin, but the weight begins to swallow you over your shoulders, and it’s pulled tight around you a few seconds later.

Barely an inch shorter than you and yet feeling so much bigger than you, sans pulls the jacket tight over you and your loose towel.

Desperately do you grab at his hand as it adjusts the jacket closed and his hands are just as cold, as eating, as grating on your skin, but you _know they’re warm_ you know he makes you feel _warm_ you just want to _feel_ it…

He raises his hand and presses his palm to your cheek. It stings like _ice_ \- but for a moment.

As his thumb sweeps across your skin, it rubs like flint on stone. Ignitive.

Warmth sweeps into your face from his palm, from the enclosing feeling of the jacket, lingering in your hands from Papyrus’ touch.

A shuttering, wheezing laugh of relief escapes you and you’re thrown on Sans before you can think about it. Your arms wrap him so tight and it’s a relief and his body feels so warm against yours, even when he’s left standing there stock still, both his arms hovering out in the air in surprise.

Papyrus laughs softly along with your raspy little laughs before crowing at Sans to stop hugging you, cant he see the human is cold and needs to put on clothes? “So SCANDALOUS, brother!!”

You hear Sans sputtering, and somewhere in the house, Undyne laughing.

You're home and safe.

For now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new computer! new apartment!!  
> updates will be slow, still, as im still trying to find a job to make rent. but! i now have the capability to write when i have time!


	65. Demonstrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> light hearted and riddled with underlying intention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is anonymously sponsored by an anonymous donner!!!!!!

“Well, human, your answer would depend on the monster.”

You nod, swathed in blankets for warmth. “I guessed, but- well, still, I’d like to know.”

“Hm. Well, the great Papyrus is a marvelous teacher! Let me see…”

He takes a second to ponder where he wants to start, as he finishes lying cooked noodles in the pan. You wonder if the brothers are sick of lasagna yet; but it’s easy, and lasts, and it’s got a good few food groups, and it’s not expensive. Papyrus also seems to like making it.

When the noodles are in place, you hand the can of open sauce to him and go to rinse the can opener to be put away.

“Alright!” he puffs in that cheerful way he always manages, “Alright, so, most monsters have the same fundamental when they eat: most of that food will become magic. Food is a magic fuel- inducing healing of our bodies and, if there is nothing to be healed, then, being stored- like refilling metaphorical magic gas tanks. Various monsters do this at varying levels of waste. Skeletons and fire monsters, two types you know, we can do this at a near 100% efficiency. Grillby, he produces a big of smoke and ash- but that’s just him. Most fire monsters don’t even make that much. I, personally, think he eats too fast! So rushed! No manners!”

Huh. Grillby, in his nice suit and quiet mannerisms, being called rude. It made you chuckle as you shred the cheese.

“Nyeheh. Well- anyway- the process of eating still depends on a monster. I don’t know if you’ve met a Moldsmal, but! They dissolve food in their bodies, like a high acidic or basic substance. They are neither, of course, that is merely how their magic works- it’s very corrosive magic. While hugging a Moldsmal is safe, if one does not wish you to hug it, it can burn you. A defense mechanism on top of being used for digestive purposes, and one i believe is similar to human anatomy.”

“So what about skeletons?” you pile grated cheese in a nice layer over sauce he's spooned out well over the noodles, spreading it at as he readies more hot, recently made noodles. “Is it magic that makes the food disappear when you eat it?”

“Hm. Sort of. Skeletons have always been a rare species of monster, so, we are not the most researched monster! Fitting, that the great Papyrus is such a magnificent species of monster!” he ‘nyeheheheh’s heartily, making you chuckle. “But- i'd say it’s more… hm, it is like invisible organs, dear human. No, we do not have actual incorporeal throats and stomaches you cannot see or feel, but it is… it is similar. The common dismissal of these sort of questions as  _ magic, _ is not as much a dismissal as one would think. it's… very hard to put forward in a way humans, or even more organic monsters, can understand. Stars knows it’s made Undyne frustrated when she asked a much similar question. It’s very hard to explain.”

Its pleasant to talk to Papyrus. Sometimes that… childish thing about him thins out. He’s quite the smart cookie, and being Sans’ brother, that shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it is sometimes. 

“Is that why you can use a straw?” you ask, remembering him chugging away a chocolate milk while at solar’s. “You’d need cheeks to make suction and such. If you’re a human, at least.”

“Yes and no. Yes, because we have a sort of… magic everything that a human has. Maybe not all the unnecessary organs, but, most of everything else, down to the skin, to the lips or the cheeks. They don’t come into play unless needed, but skeletons can choose to even make them visible and… corporeal through magic. My brother is very comical, I'm sure you’ve seen a skeletons’ tongue before, yes?”

You hum thoughtfully. Perhaps here and there, you’ve seen the blue appendage. Normally when he was eating. Once or twice it was for a joke, or because he was trying to say a new word he’d learned. You wondered if the tongue was so he could mimic another person’s mouth and figure out how the word was said so he could say it normally.

“No, because,” Papyrus continued, “if there is one thing any skeleton is usually capable of, its making a vacuum.” 

He trails off for a moment, distracted by pushing buttons on the oven, but picks back up once everything is as he wants. He still sets the stove higher than you do, but, he’s not wrong that it cooks a  _ little _ faster. That said, the edges are a bit… crunchy that way. He and undyne seem perfectly fine with that, though.

“There’s a vacuum seal for a skeletons skull- the eyes, the nose. The cranial cavity is vacuum sealed for the eyes to work properly. Vacuums are an innate magic for a skeleton, like water magics for fish monsters, fire for goat monsters-”

“Goat monsters? Fire?”

Knowing what i- The Great Papyrus- do about your above-ground goats, I can see your confusion! But yes, goat monsters have an akin to fire- it’s a very strong innate magic, too; most goat monsters achieve a Boss Monster status after reaching adulthood. Boss monsters are, essentially, very strong monsters, like Asgore and Lady Asgore, the monster King and Queen. Although, most boss monsters are not very… outwith about  _ being _ boss monsters- especially now, so, those are the only examples I’ll give you.”

Goats with monster fire. Huh. 

“Vacuum Magic is a type of Blue Magic. Skeletons excel with Blue Magic. So a straw is very easy, as suction is a type of vacuum a human forms in their mouth. Skeletons can do this same thing. An innate function in small forms. It’s fairly difficult to make a large one, but. Hm, the great Papyrus never did try to make a large one. It’s not very useful in battle!”

“so, what  _ did _ you learn?”

“Why, the great Papyrus learned his signature moves! Bone moves- another innate magic for a skeleton!- were the first and most important, of course! If there were enough of us for a skeleton culture, I'm sure that would be traditional! The summoning of bones is very useful in a fight! sharp or long or short and blunt, many uses. They make for marvelous traps, of course, in quantity. But the great Papyrus’ number one signature move comes later! The bones are the distraction, you see!”

As much as you adore Papyrus’ excitement building up, you are glad he keeps his voice down. 

“It takes a round or two to make a soul turn blue, but once it does, there is no escaping the great Papyrus’ Gravity-Based Attack! Or his Super Cool Normal Bone Attacks!”

“Would you ever be interested in showing me?”

He pauses, mid word, about to launch into his excited speech about his super cool bones. “DO YOU MEAN LIKE A SPAR?” he practically  _ erupts _ , excitement oozing from each of his not-for-attacking-purpose bones.

“ARE WE TALKING ABOUT SPARS?” Undyne emerges from the hallway nearly immediately, yelling loudly and jovially. “If there’s a FIGHT it's gunna be ME!! Who are we fighting, punks?!”

You hold up both hands slowly. One of your blankets slips free and piles on the floor, freed from your lack of hold on it. “M-more like- a demonstration! Is what I meant! We can’t exactly have a full fight in my apartment safely!”

“I’ll say.” Sans makes you jump- but not nearly to the degree it once did. He’s appeared behind you, sitting on the counter, eating a spoonful of tomato sauce left over from the now ready for cooking lasagna. “My bro’s so cool, we’d have like, a million bones sticking out of the walls if those two went at it. Collateral.”

Both of the eager monsters deflate. They certainly can’t go out and fight in the street or even at a park, either- both of them know Undyne's a wanted fugitive. 

Papyrus re-inflates quickly, as does his ego. His recently re-gloved hands rest on his hips in a dramatic hero pose. “THEN A DEMONSTRATION! The great Papyrus will demonstrate his magic for you, my dearest human! What kind of magic can the great, amazing, mighty Papyrus wow you with this marvelous evening!?”

You laugh along to his dramatics and think, with your best serious expression. “How about Blue Magic? You said you excel at it, yeah?”

Undyne snorts. “Color Magics are mostly SOUL based! You can’t just do it-”

Undyne in her somewhat aggressive glaring at you is silenced- you hear, in the back of your mind, a soft  _ ping _ , and something blue appears in front of her chest- and then drops to the floor. Undyne falls with it, like suddenly bowled over with some unseen heavy object.

The blue thing vanishes, and Undyne lets out a disgusted noise.

“You can when the mighty head of the royal guard lets down her  _ guard _ .” Sans puns, and you look up at him in time to see the light of a bright blue light going out from his eye. Not the same shade of blue as the blue... object- a bright cyan as compared to indigo. 

“You fucking  _ asshole _ , watch what you’re doing, that shits heavy.”

“THAT, human! Was a display of Gravity Magic, a blue magic!” Papyrus informs you, sounding, but trying not to be, amused. “BROTHER! It is impeccably rude to use magic on a person if a fight hasn’t started! That’s against the rules!”

“Rules are made to be broken, bro.”

“Nonsense! Rules of a fair fight are key! They’re meant to be taken in-”

“TURNS!” Undyne yells, and something brilliantly blue and much closer to the shade of Sans’ magic eye flies into your vision. A rigid, light-like arrowed spear stabs through the air as Undyne takes her turn - thrusting it where Sans had been- and no longer is.

You relocate him standing beside you, on your other side, after a moment of searching; munching on an extra cooked noodle from the pot, dipped in sauce. 

“taken in turns- but, what if I'm too tired to take my turn? Heh.”

“Sans! That’s just lazy! You started it!” Papyrus scolds. Undyne leans on her spear, blunt end to the ground, scowling. 

“this is a terrible demonstration if you’re just going to dodge, you weenie.” Undyne growls. “Why are we demonstrating for a fucking human?”

“So the human feels safe in their home that they have several strong friends to defend them!” Papyrus asserts firmly, before stopping to scold Undyne on her language. 

You’re… touched, if not… guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my deepest apologies for the lack of updates-
> 
> ive been unable to find a cracked version of Microsoft so i can write off line, my "free trial" expired and locked a lot of my hard copy files, and moving city and house was a big hassle, especially with trying to get as many hours at the new job as possible.
> 
> im currently using google docs to write! however, my wifi is... n o t the most reliable thing, and i dont have a good offline writing system. most free ones dont save in .doc or .docx so i cant really use most of them, or i loose all sorts of details in... countless... countless chapters...
> 
> so unless i find a free one that works, find a good crack on microsoft office word, or can purchase it entirely (which is the absolutely ridiculous price of $129.99 for the 2016 version), writing is. very difficult.
> 
> STILL, I WILL DO MY ABSOLUTE BEST when my wifi permits! especially with the donations the anonymous donner made- a 20$ blessing that made groceries possible this past june.


	66. Repetition Insinuated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one who follows a routine precedent to a letter tends to fall into insinuated repetition cycles, and often for an eye whos gaze does not look out for themselves, this has a disastrous consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shout out to "Lamp", anonymous guest commenter, for one of the most encouraging comments ive ever read! and also a shout out to anyone who has wanted to or has been able to make donations to help obnoxiously difficult situations your local dumbass author finds themself in.

You go back to work on Monday. 

You tried to on Friday, last week, but Kal had already been there and scowled at you when you’d walked into the front door. Koyol has, apparently, sent him a memo that you would be off work til Monday. Kal asserted that you go home and rest- it sounded like you needed it, he’d muttered.

Thus prompted Friday’s delightful spectacle of magic while you made dinner, as you were not allowed at work and were home to make dinner.

Lasagna, one tray of which once lasted you a good two weeks, only lasts the weekend with a household of four. That was concerning. 

Undyne wasn’t always there- you didn’t see her all Saturday. She comes and goes as she pleases. You feel better knowing she’s got a retreat in your home now, instead of resorting to alleyways. But she’s made a point of not settling. Still, when you get your first paycheck- that isn’t as pitiful as your actual given first one considering you’d only had 5 days of work on it- you’d be sure to get another bed for the third room since the other mattress has been pawned. 

Work on Monday is busy. It’s the first day you’ve brought in your laptop- to Kal’s distaste it isn’t up to a standard he needed you to have for the job. He said he’d put in for a work computer for your office, but youd have to use your personal one til it came sometime next week, maybe this Friday if they were lucky. 

You spent a lot of Monday trying to get to know some of your staff, too. Muffet is a darling. The humans working there were quite nice. You were not surprise at… general oddness in people. James, a bus boy, was twitchy in a manner that made your brain jump to a drug conclusion but was so clean and young and lacking in physical indicators you figured he was just. that way. The old Native American woman at the counter was very sweet but had trouble remembering your order if it was complicated beyond “just a black coffee”. There was a black haired woman that worked in the kitchen with Muffet who kept very wide births from other people, and if someone passed too closely she sort of condensed inward on herself til she had her personal space again.

Despite nearly everyone presenting “undesirable” traits you know would have had them fired elsewhere, the place was very well designed for general accessibility that made everyone’s life so much easier. It all worked, and very safely. It operated, and better, everyone seemed very content and happy with their job, even the more misanthropic staff members that you’d interacted with and come to the conclusions they would work better operating at arm’s reach. 

You made a point to anyone and everyone your office was open and ready for complaints. The place bustled well with a strong design, but you were ready to improve it more so if anyone had ideas.

After Monday, you had a new determination. You were going to do your best to keep a place like this going and keep its accessible nature accessible to everyone in ability-challenged mannerisms and make sure they kept their jobs in a comfortable way. This was something they needed, and as the HR professional you were going to make sure they had what they needed.

You wish a place like this had existed when you were younger. 

The added security protocol was nice, and you had a pair of employed security men in the place until closing. In a city with a less than pleasant crime rate, that was a sheer relief. You’d worked many jobs and you’d been robbed many times. When you took the trash out to the back alley dumpster, you had a security man with you. 

Security is a wild feeling that’s been made established this last few days and it’s a blessing. As much as you hate it- as much as you hate feeling like you needed Sans or Papyrus to protect you at home, or that you needed security at work. 

You hated to need it, but god did it feel so good after how much had happened this year. Muggings and paranoia and attacks in alleys and everything involved.

Thursday came, and at lunch, you heard your name called questioningly. 

You turned your head, and across the solars’ dining room was Sans making his way around tables. 

Hopping up to the seat next to you, you could feel the incredulousness of his gaze. “Why are  _ you  _ here?”

You quirk a brow. “It’s lunch time. I always eat lunch here, bonedaddy. My home town bar n grill.”

He’s silent, but he’s. still watching you. like he can’t quite believe it that you are in this building. Like that’s some outlandish thing. 

Grillby deposits your plate of fries and your sharp scented drink.

“…you don’t even order the burger anymore, huh?” he commented dryly, looking it over.

You bristle. “Accusatory much? Fuck man, okay.”

“Well I'm not blind.”

Seems you both know you don’t really eat  _ lunch  _ every day. You don’t really eat anything every day. He’s not wrong in his accusations, it’s the second day this week you’d ordered food at lunch time- only because the static in your ears was growing painfully persistent every day. at lunch or at dinner. when you didn’t get food. He’s not wrong but fuck if he’s  _ blunt  _ and fuck if you don’t  _ need _ that. 

Maybe you fucking need the security. as much as you  _ hate _ it. but fuck if you need someone telling you what to do and how to take care of yourself. you’ve  _ never  _ had someone telling you how to take care of yourself or taking care of you and you aren’t gunna fuckin start  _ now _ .

“did you like, need something, from either grills or me? or are you just here to fuck around.” You know you sound hostile. 

Grillby’s fingers thrum against the table in response to the tone you used, so you turn away from Sans and push a fry into your mouth.

Sans starts to say something snarky back at you, but you don’t hear the first word. your throat tightens hard around the small morsel of food; Your stomach heaves like you’d just tried to ingest something toxic.

You grab a napkin and your mouth forces it out of you dryly like a pill you accidentally started chewing instead of swallowing. Dry and crumbly and already chewed and half swallowed and disgusting.

You crumble the napkin up around it. Your throat and eyes burn.

Grillby’s fingers thrum on the table again. He quietly takes the fries back. This has already happened this week, after all- it’s the second day you'd tried.

He holds his hand out for the napkin and when you just apologize, he holds his hand to you more firmly, with an equally firm flicker to the sound of his flames. You give it to him and he goes to throw it away for you.

Sans, Sans thank god, doesn’t say a fucking thing about anything.

You take your drink in two long gulps. The burning hurts but it takes away the other feeling- the other tightness in your throat and the feeling of being  _ too full _ as alcohol splashes in an empty gut. Reminding you it’s empty.  _ Good _ . 

“Is the hot water back on at the house yet?” you haven’t showered since your ice cold stunt. It’s almost a week. You can’t bare much longer how dirty you feel but your body dreads how dirty you’ll feel when there’s eyes and hands on you while you strip and bathe. its picking between two types of filth, at this point.

Unbearable.

“It’s been back. You know that.”

You do. You don’t  _ fucking  _ need him to tell you that. You don't need anyone trying remind you that your  _ picking _ one type of filth over the other. You were just trying to make conversation.

Grillby comes back with another drink, fryless. You drink that hard, your only response to Sans being a tired grunt at his  _ unnecessary _ and  _ unwanted _ reminder. 

Sans orders a burger and two salads. So he came to get food for the three of them back home, then.

He pays with some of the money you gave him from your first measly paycheck in a fucking hope he wouldn’t keep stealing. You’re not sure how well that’s working.

He doesn’t leave when Grillby deposits a bag to go in front of him. He stays sat next to you. That, you can handle. Patient silence. 

Companionable, Patient, Quiet. No expectation of words. This- this you can do.

The big jolly chorus announcing him sounds through the dining room. It’s a greeting to Grillby. The ill fit suit is in the restaurant, the first time you've seen him so far this week. 

The group looks up as Apollo makes his way over, slapping a hand on Grillby’s back like an old friend. 

He beams a brilliant smile like he always has when your eyes meet. “Honey! Welcome, welcome- oh my, are you not eating?  _ Ela, ela, epiméno, _ we need to get you some food! You’re too small as it is! Flambo, get our girl something- get her the bacon, ah, she loves Apollo’s Bacon Burger!  _ pígaine grigorótera _ !”

Grillby stares at him for a few moments too long, that the light on the collar about his neck has to flicker before he even moves, and heads to the back room. Before you can protest, Apollo assures you it will be free of charge and insists, once again in bright chipper Greek, that he  _ insists _ . 

You chuckle, tired. Apollo’s never been one to take  _ no _ for an answer.

“Jesus, Ap, whats got you so happy and cheerful? You never use the language in-restaurant. What was it, English Authenticity?” 

“Seeing my girl always makes me happy, Honey! We must- I mean we  _ must _ get together again soon! You’re as sweet as I remember, it’s been far too long.”

“You know me, Ap, I'm a busy guy. We’ll try soon, maybe.”

Its chipper and it leaves a bitter sweet taste on your tongue by the time Apollo takes off. How a man can be so happy to see someone every time, you don't know.

Sans is staring and he hasn’t looked so  _ hateful _ since the first few weeks you’d known him. You don’t know what you did wrong so you keep your eyes averted into your empty glass, suddenly tense.

“ _ What the fuck. _ ” Is the only thing he says, under his breath. 

Grillby comes back. He’s glowering. The Bacon Burger is wrapped and ready to go- fully aware you won’t eat it. He opens the to-go bag, drops it in, and rolls it closed again for sans to take home. 

He looks as hateful as Sans. 

You don’t know what you did wrong. 

Scratching your arm uncomfortably, you slide off your chair. “Work in… uh, 5 minutes guys. I gotta go.” You fish out your measly pocket change and pay your tab and Grillby’s tip.

Grillby takes the money for the food and pushes the rest back at you, returning the tip, without looking at you. Just keeps his face angled away to the left, like the floors more important. Returning your tip, such a blatant break in a precedent routine that it’s quite jarring. 

You flinch. He’s so angry now he doesn't even want your tip? God, what… what did you do wrong?

You take it back, hands trembling, feeling a painfully icy feeling shoot through your fingers into your arms and reaching into your chest. 

The determination wavers for the day in a bath of icy cold.

You mutter a quick apology to your friend- your wished friend- you're probably not friend- the fiery monster who perhaps hates you, you don’t fucking know, and scatter from the restaurant. You numbly register he’d raised a hand to stop you but you’re gone before it processes in your head. You regret running- you call yourself a useless coward as you walk down the street.

You spend the rest of Thursday trying to figure out what you did to piss them off, and try as you might once again, your attempts to stay out at night for the  _ second job _ don’t work. The first thing in your mouth chokes you and there’s no hope for extra cash this week at all it seems, and you can’t figure out  _ why  _ you can’t do it now. Oral was never the worst you could do in the night, why does it give such a problem so suddenly?

It’ll fade away, you know. This isn’t the first time. 

At least Papyrus is relieved you come home every night before he goes to sleep, even if unhappy with how hard you brush your teeth first thing after getting home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey folks-   
> thanks for many of the suggestions on writing programs! unfortunately, most of the recommendations have already been researched and wont work for me in one way or another. HOWEVER!  
> via VERY generous donations i have enough money to purchase the 2016 version of MSO Word--
> 
> which is amazing and im very thankful, however, im not buying word. yet. im currently under the very... back breaking threat of possible eviction. if i get evicted im going to need every scrap of cash i can manage, haha. hopefully the damn bitch trying to evict me will fail and my dear roommate and sibling can learn to cut off the toxic witch but until then we're gunna. run on hope and im gunna save. 
> 
> as soon as this clears up i assure you, one way or another, ill have my writing all settled down again when i am.


End file.
